


Little Troubles

by mangagal



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kidlock, Kissing, M/M, Past Abuse, Possibly sex later but no explicit sex yet, Teenlock, Underage Sex, not sure what the age of concent is in the UK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:16:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangagal/pseuds/mangagal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John and their lives as roommates at Mrs. Hudson's foster home.</p>
<p>John shows up one day with a small suitcase to a shouting Sherlock and of course they become fast friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> There is mention of drug use, alcoholism, abuse, and neglect so if these things bother you please be aware.

            John Watson could already hear the muffled shouts as he dragged his meager suitcase up the stairs.  He winced as he got the doorway and was hit with the full blast of the shouting.

            “NO NO NO! I WILL NOT SHAIR A ROOM WITH SOME IMBICEL!” screamed a small dark haired boy, his fists were clenched by his side and he stomped his foot as if that could put an end to the nonsense that was being forced upon him.

            “Please Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson sighed, looking harried, “There is nowhere else that he can go, besides, I think you two could get along well,” she offered Sherlock a small smile, to which he crossed his arms and turned his back to her, “Besides, unless you want to share a room with Mycroft you will be rooming with John.”  And she turned back to finish making the bed.

            “You wouldn’t dare!” he said, eyes growing wide.  When he saw that she would indeed dare, he wiped his head towards the door, facing John for the first time his blue eyes meet Johns brown, “Fine! Then I’ll make him leave!” Sherlock proclaimed, drawing himself up to his entire tiny height.

            “Sherlock! No!” she sighed, she did not want to see the small blond boy dissolve into tears like all of the other children before him.  He was the 5th boy that they had tried to place in her house this month and all of them had had to be places elsewhere as Sherlock could not abide to live with any of them and had made their lives there miserable.  Honestly, she loved him dearly and he could be a sweet boy on occasion but sometimes he was a holy terror!

            Sherlock looked down his nose at the blond boy and was dismayed to find that he was only slightly taller than the other boy; he pursed his lips slightly examining the boy before his mouth drew into a nasty smirk, “Your father is an alcoholic and when he would drink he would beat you and your mother.  At first your mother also turned to alcohol to numb the pain but it wasn’t strong enough so she turned to drugs.  But a nurse’s job doesn’t pay enough to support a drug habit, especially after she lost it for showing up to work hung over so she started pawning off her belongings to pay for the drugs but eventually she ran out of things to sell so she decided to sell you.” Sherlock’s eyes sparkled, “She thought that she could get a fair price if she sold you on the black market and then she would be set for drug money for the rest of the year.  Police found her, high as a kite, dragging you through the city streets in the middle of the night and took you into police custody.  Your father is missing, most likely staying with his other family that he keeps in the country, so they couldn’t turn you over to him.  You have an older brother as well; he’s of legal age so why didn’t he take you?  Most likely he has a drinking problem like your father, in fact he blames you for your family falling apart, and told services that he would not be taking you in under any circumstance.  So you ended up here since no one wanted you and no one would take you in.”  A small smile spread across Sherlock’s face as he finished his tale and waited expectantly for John Watson to burst into tears or turn angry and red or shout at him or most likely punch him in the mouth.

            Instead he was taken aback as a wide smile spread across Johns face.  “That was amazing!  How did you figure all of that out?”

            “I look at people and I see.  I deduct the facts about their lives.” Sherlock replied.

            “So you knew that all just by looking at me? That's brilliant!” John exclaimed. 

            Sherlock blushed slightly and looked down at his feet, “Do you really mean that, about it being brilliant?”

            “Of course!” John said, “What do people usually say when you tell them about their lives?” John asked tilting his head to the side questioningly.

            “They usually tell me to sod off,” Sherlock shyly smiled at John, “and tell me to stop making up stories.”

            “John Watson” he said offering his hand.

            “Sherlock Holmes” Sherlock said, clasping the small hand.

Mrs. Hudson hurried out, smiling fondly; she had a feeling that the two of them would get along.  


	2. Little Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock practice their reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fluffy, all the fluff.

Sherlock was sitting on his bed with a fat tome in his lap, curls falling into his face as he whispered the words to himself, his index finger softly tracing where he had read.  John opened the door to their shared room and climbed up next to him on the bed, peering over Sherlock’s shoulder.

            “I didn’t know you could read.”

            “I learned last year,” Sherlock said looking up from the book, “don’t you know how?”

            “No one ever taught me.” John said, avoiding eye contact.

            “I can teach you before school starts, but only if you want me to.” Sherlock said embarrassedly.

“Mrs. Hudson is teaching me..”

“Oh, ok.” Sherlock said disappointedly.

“But if you wanted you could read to me though.” John said with a small smile.

Sherlock’s face broke into a rare wide grin before he turned back to his book, reading to John about the wonders of chemical reactions.  John rested his shoulder against Sherlock’s, soaking in the words as Sherlock read them for him.

…

Sometimes Sherlock would walk by the kitchen and would hear John’s childish voice sounding out words.  He would peek around the corner and see John and Mrs. Hudson sitting at the kitchen table with his blond head bent close to the book, brows furrowed in concentration.  It never failed to put a smile on his face as he skipped back to their room, he had learned early on not to join them at the table.

The first time that he had tried to join them John had clamped his mouth close shut the book and had hidden it under the table before Sherlock had a chance to see the title.  Sherlock thought that John was just being shy, but after it happened three or four more times, Sherlock had gotten irritated.  He was sulking, curled up in a ball on his bed when John had found him.  Of course John had known something was wrong, John could always tell.

“Sherlock,” John had said quietly,  “I’m not hiding it from you, I just want to surprise you when I get good enough, O.K.?” 

Sherlock nodded and uncurled from his sulking position on the bed before taking John’s hand as he lead them out to the garden.  He never use to play in the garden, he had thought it was dull and a waist of valuable time, no matter how much Mrs. Hudson nagged him to go outside.  But it was different with John, it wasn’t quite as dull, and even if there were other things that he would rather be doing, like taking apart the toaster to see how it worked, he did not regret the time that he spent in the garden with John. 

…

            Mrs. Hudson was talking to her sister on the phone and if it followed her normal pattern, it would be hours before she was done.  Sherlock sighed and crawled under the covers and decided to try to fall asleep rather than listen to Mrs. Hudson ramble on about gardening and biscuit recipes and whatever else old people rambled on about.  He rolled over on his side to face the wall when he felt the slight dip of the mattress.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, “are you asleep already?”

“What do you want John?” Sherlock asked rolling back so that his eyes met Johns.

“While, since Mrs. Hudson is going to be busy for a while she won’t have time to read us a bedtime story,” John said fiddling with a thick book, “so I was wondering if you would like me to read one to you?”

Sherlock scooted over, leaving enough room for John.  A grin lit up John’s face; honestly he had a very nice smile, as he snuggled into bed with Sherlock, pressing his cold toes against Sherlock’s leg as he settled into place.  John opened the book to a seemingly random page before clearing his throat.

“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived two boys who stole a pirate ship,” John started.

“John,” Sherlock interrupted peered at the page, “that is not what the book says at all, this is a medical textbook.”

“Shush,” John said as he shoved Sherlock’s shoulder, blushing lightly, “I wanted to read you a story about pirates but Mrs. Hudson said that it would be a long time before I’d be able to read you one of the pirate books, and I didn’t want to wait that long so I decided to make up a story about them for you, cause I thought you wouldn’t mind…” John trailed off at the end and picked at the loose threads at the wrists of his jumper.  Sherlock sighed and settled back down into bed.

“Go on then,” Sherlock said when John didn’t start ‘reading’ right away, “what happened next?”

“Oh! Um, the two boys started their days as pirates, Captain Sherlock and his trusty ship doctor John Watson!  They headed off to sail the seven seas in search for the…”

…

Mrs. Hudson glanced at the clock after getting off the phone with her sister, it was almost 11 o’clock! 

“I hope those two boys have put themselves to bed,” she thought as she headed up the stairs, “it simply wouldn’t be decent for them to be up this late!”

As she stepped into the bedroom the corners of her eyes crinkled up with a smile.  Sherlock’s dark head was resting on John’s shoulder and Johns blond head rested on to of his.  She tiptoed into the room, carefully removed the book from John’s hands, covered the two of them with a quilt, and flicked off the lamp.

“My boys.” She said with a smile as she closed the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically this is why Sherlock decided to be a pirate! :)


	3. Little Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Sherlock feels a bit uneasy.

Sometimes Sherlock would come in from collecting samples or from throwing away the moldy slice of bread that he had been hiding under his bed, “For science John!”, or he would come down from their room after finishing a book and would find John and Mrs. Hudson doing something together.  Sometimes they would be baking biscuits in the kitchen or sitting side by side as Mrs. Hudson read the mail and John colored or John would be helping her bring in the laundry and it would fill Sherlock with a warm feeling that brought a smile to his face. 

            It was completely different from when there were other children spending a couple of nights on the couch.  No, when he saw the other children with Mrs. Hudson it gave him a nauseous feeling in his stomach, his head would pound, he’d find his hands balled up into fists.  When he saw the other children sitting in Mrs. Hudson’s lap or holding her hand or helping her around the house, he wanted to run into the room and scream and throw things and break things.  He wanted the push the other child away and scream at them that Mrs. Hudson was his and that they couldn’t have her.  But he knew that he couldn’t do that, he knew that if he did Mrs. Hudson would just give him a disapproving look and would go and comfort the crying child.  He knew that if he did that, eventually Mrs. Hudson would be fed up with him and would get rid of him and he would be alone again. 

            So instead of causing a ruckus, Sherlock would dig his nails into his palm and go hide in his room until someone came looking for him.  He couldn’t cause a fuss or he would be cast away again.  If he behaved maybe Mrs. Hudson would keep him, so he always made sure to be well behaved.  But sometimes he would forget and track mud in across the freshly moped floor or broke the microwave again or deducted rude things about the friends she would have over for tea.  Then Mrs. Hudson would be quite cross with him and Sherlock would start to worry.  He would lie awake in bed and worry.  Perhaps this time she had had enough of Sherlock and would leave him alone in the house or perhaps she would kick him out and replace him with a better child.  There were loads of children who were better than Sherlock was.  There was Sarah who had always helped to set the table, there was Sally who had always put her clothes away neatly, there was Anderson who had always fetched the paper for her in the morning, there were so many children that Mrs. Hudson would probably rather have living with her instead of Sherlock.  And he would lie awake at night and fret, but after a few days the other child would move on to a different home and Sherlock would stay there with Mrs. Hudson.  Gradually Sherlock would relax, gradually Sherlock would start to sleep through the night again, gradually Sherlock’s fears would sink back into the recesses of his mind.  However, a new child would show up on their front porch and Sherlock would grow anxious once more.

            But Sherlock didn’t feel like that when he saw John and Mrs. Hudson together.  When ever John heard the back door slam shut or heard bare feet on the floor he would look up from what ever he was doing and would find Sherlock.  Sometimes John would just smile at Sherlock, but sometimes he would get up and follow Sherlock, other times he would grab Sherlock’s hand and drag him into the middle of their activity.  Sherlock never felt nervous when John and Mrs. Hudson were getting along because he knew that John wouldn’t let him be abandoned.  Sherlock knew that when he was with them he was home. 


	4. Little Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sometimes has nightmares.

Sometimes John would have nightmares.  Sherlock would wake up to the sound of John screaming, his covers tangled around his legs, his breath coming in short gasps.  His eyes were wide open but he couldn't see Sherlock.  When John was like this it was scary.  John was the one who protected Sherlock from the bad people in the world and held Sherlock’s hand when he was frightened; John was the one who knew how to make people feel better, not Sherlock.  So when John got like this Sherlock panicked.  He’d run and wake up Mrs. Hudson before running back to their room and hiding under the blankets until John went back to sleep.  Mrs. Hudson would gather John up into her lap and rub his back, gently rocking him.

            “It’s alright love, I’ve got you, I’m right here, nothing can hurt you.” She’d whisper over and over again until John fell back into an exhausted sleep.  John would always have a pinched look on his face after those nights and would have headaches, so Sherlock was extra careful to play quietly and tried his best not to make anything explode.

…

            Mrs. Hudson had gone to her regular ladies night out and the dreadful teenager from down the street had come over to watch Sherlock and John.  Sherlock had clung to her leg and begged her not to go, John hadn’t been sleeping well the past few nights and that was a clear indicator that John would have a nightmare so she should stay just incase.  Sherlock had told her so, loudly.

            “It’ll be fine Mrs. Hudson,” the girl had said, laying a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, he bristled under the unfamiliar touch, “I’ll be here if anything happens.”

            Mrs. Hudson gave John a kiss on the cheek and tried to give one to Sherlock, who refused since she wasn’t listening to them, told them to behave and headed out the door.  John played and Sherlock sulked until they headed off to bed.

            Sherlock was still propped up in bed reading when John’s nightmare started.  John thrashed around, getting tangled in the sheets and making small distressed noises.  Sherlock crawled out of bed and peeked over the edge of John’s bed.  He could hear the girl downstairs watching some rubbish movie, Sherlock wondered if he should go get her, no, she was worse than useless, he could take care of this.  Sherlock crawled up onto the bed and gently pushed John’s fringe off of his sweaty forehead.

“John, it’s just a dream,” Sherlock whispered, “wake up.”  But John just thrashed in his sleep, accidentally throwing Sherlock off of the bed.  Sherlock clambered back onto the bed and grabbed John’s shoulders, holding them down into the mattress so that John couldn’t buck him off the bed again.  Shaking him slightly, “John wake up!”

            John jerked awake with a startled gasp and a dazed look on his face for a few seconds before his face crumpled and he dissolved into loud wails.  Without thinking twice Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shaking body.

            “Shush John, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” Sherlock soothed, “I’ve got you, I wont let anything happen to you, I won’t leave you.”  John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, returning his hug, and tucked his tear stained face into the crook of Sherlock’s neck, while Sherlock continued to stroke his back and murmur comforts until John stopped crying.  He pulled his tear stained face away from Sherlock and with a shaky breath wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

            “I’m fine now,” John said quietly, “I’m o.k.”

            “Alright.” And Sherlock made to get down from the bed before he felt John’s hands tighten on his arm and he looked back at John.

            “Would you mind staying?” John asked refusing to make eye contact.  Sherlock just got under the covers and held tight to John until the two of them had fallen soundly back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know what you are suppose to do for people having nightmares, so you should probably do your own research if you want to help someone having nightmares.


	5. Little Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Greg and Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is adorable and protective of Sherlock. Sorry this one took a while, I went back to school and had writers block. I'll try to post once or twice a week, but I promise nothing.

“SHERLOCK!” John shouted from the kitchen, “There’s a strange person in the garden!”  Sherlock hopped up onto the stool next to John, peering out of the window.

            “Oh, that’s just Lestrade, you don’t have to mind him.” Sherlock says as said teen pokes his head in to the kitchen.

            “Hey Sherlock, how’ve you been?” the boy asks ruffling Sherlock’s hair, Sherlock pulls away and pretends to pour, but John can tell that he’s secretly pleased with the affection from the older boy.

            “I’m fine,” Sherlock said peaking out of the back door, “Didn’t you bring Fatcroft back with you?”

            “You shouldn’t call him that Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolds as she walks into the kitchen.

            “Hello Mrs. Hudson,” Lestrade said politely, “Mycroft’s just getting the rest of his stuff out of the car then he’ll head in, who might this be?” he asked, peering at John who was hiding behind Mrs. Hudson.  John wasn’t shy per say, but he also wasn’t thrilled with strangers in his house.  However, no one would accuse John of being a coward, so as soon as attention was turned to him he stepped out from behind Mrs. Hudson and stuck out his hand.

            “I’m John Watson, I’m six years old, me and Sherlock share a room.” John said.

            “Nice to meet you John,” Lestrade said, smiling in that way that makes the corners of your eye’s crinkle up.  John felt himself relaxing a little, Lestrade was safe, he wasn’t going to hurt him or Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock.  “ I’m Greg Lestrade. I live right next door, Mycroft goes to school with me.”  John decided that he liked Greg. 

            With a bang the screen door was kicked in as a slightly pudgy boy with ginger hair came in, his arms filled with luggage, panting slightly.

            “Who’s that?” John asked.

            “That’s Mycroft,” Sherlock said disdainfully, “he’s my arch-nemesis.”

            John’s eyes flew wide at this revelation.  Quickly he put himself between Sherlock and the perceived threat.  He clenched his tiny fists, pulled himself up to his full height (though it wasn’t all that tall if you were to ask Sherlock), puffed out his chest, and glared at the intruder.

            “Sherlock stop being mellow dramatic.” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes before a thin politician like smile spread across his face as he offered his hand to John, “I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother.”  Mycroft had expected this to placate John, he was instead meet with a look of pure determination, as if John was preparing to launch himself at Mycroft and tackle him into the linoleum floor. 

            Sherlock had been closely watching John with amusement as his best friend had thrown himself in front of Sherlock to protect him from his villainous brother.  He had been quite shocked when John’s shoulders had tensed up at the words “older brother”.  Sherlock could see a faint tremor to John’s back, muscles tensed, ready to fight or run, and Sherlock remembered that John had an older brother.  John had an older sibling who was not a good thing in his life.  “Older brother” was no reassurance to John; John knew that family could be the biggest threat of all.  Sherlock put his hand gently on to John’s tense shoulder.

            “John, it’s ok,” Sherlock said quietly, “he may be a rubbish big brother and I may not like him very much and he may be my arch-nemesis but he would never harm me.”  With these words John relaxed his fighting stance slightly, shooting a wary glance in Mycroft’s direction, Sherlock removed his hand from John’s shoulder only to have John weave his small hand into Sherlock’s.  Mycroft raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips at this unusual display of affection, giving Sherlock a look over the small blonds shoulder; Sherlock stuck his tongue out churlishly at Mycroft. 

            “Good lord,” Mycroft thought as he watched the two leave the room, “my brother has acquired an accomplice!”  Knowing that any hopes he may have had for a peaceful home life had just flown out of the window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any situations that you would like to see please leave a comment letting me know :)


	6. Little School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's first day of year one. John's excited, Sherlock, not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is bullying in this chapter and Sherlock has a bitty panic attack so be warned if these things are troubling to you!

Mrs. Hudson straightened Sherlock’s tie and stood back to admire her work.

            “My boys looking so dapper!” She said a little misty eyed as she shooed them out of the door for their first day of year 1.  John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and skipped happily down the road to the near by primary school, a wide grin plastered across his face.  Sherlock in comparison looked quite morose.  His mouth was turned down with a slight frown, his toes dragged along the ground, and his hand nervously clutched at John’s.

            John was Sherlock’s very best (only) friend, however, that did not mean that he was John’s.  Sure John had been with him all summer long, they had played together and gotten into trouble together, but that had been when John had no other option about who he would spend time with.  Sure John had picked him when he had been the only choice but why would John pick to stay with a freak like him when there were other, normal, children to play with.  John was a likeable and friendly boy who easily drew people to him; Sherlock knew that the idiots at school would love him instantly.  They would take John away and Sherlock would be all by himself once more.

            “John,” Sherlock said, slowing his pace further as John turned back to look at him, “When we get to school you don’t have to stay with me, you can go and play with the other children if you want.” Sherlock said, scuffing his toe in the dust.    John tilted his head to the side, looking slightly confused about where this had come from, but nodded to show his understanding and gave Sherlock a quick smile before rejoining their hands and dragging him off to school.

            The teacher didn’t like Sherlock, he wasn’t all that surprised about that, he had accidently lit her desk on fire last year.  She seamed quite sure that it hadn’t been an accident even though Sherlock had told her so many times.  Sherlock was certain that that was why she had put him at the table in the far corner in the room.  The other children at his table had all scooted their chairs as far away from him as they could, he didn’t care, he didn’t want to sit at this table filled with idiots.  John was at a table near the front of the room, the farthest seat from Sherlock.  The other children were quick to make friends with him, they asked him questions and laughed at his jokes.  Sherlock was happy for John, really, he wouldn't want John to be isolated because of him.  Sherlock felt a jolt run through his chest, he felt like he was breaking inside.  He wrapped his spindly arms around his torso, trying to hold himself together.  He wanted to go home, he wanted to be wrapped up under the covers with John reading him a bedtime story.  He didn’t want to be here with these idiotic children, with this idiotic teacher, with these stupid pointless lessons that he had learned years ago.  Sherlock felt his breathing speed up and he squeezed his eyes shut as his breath came faster and faster.

            “No,” Sherlock thought panicking, “I need to calm down, I can’t do this at school again.”  Sherlock tried to regulate his breathing but he could feel himself winding tighter and tighter.  He could hear their taunts from last year, he could see them circled around him calling him a freak, they were closing in tighter and tighter, he couldn’t breath, there wasn’t enough air in the room, he was going to die, he was going to —

            “Sherlock!” he felt a hand on his shoulder and the voice broke him out of his panic, with a gasp he looked up blearily into John’s face, “Are you all right?" he asked with concern.  Sherlock pressed his lips together and gave a small nod, still not trusting himself to speak.  “Come on, it’s lunch time.” John said with a smile lading him over to his table.

            “John!” said one of the girls wrinkling her nose at the sight of Sherlock, “You really should put that _thing_ back where you found it, it might infect you with its weirdness!” She said disdainfully.

            “Yea,” another boy joined in, “You should be careful Johnny, if you hang out with the Freak you won’t be able to have any good friends.”  Sherlock tensed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but as he turned to walk away a voice stopped him.

            “What did you say?” John’s voice was dripping with venom.  The others shared an uneasy glance at each other; they hadn’t been expecting the easygoing boy to react like this. 

            “Calm down Johnny, “ said the boy, holding his palms out in an attempt to placate the agitated boy, “we’re your friends, we just don’t want you to make a mistake by befriending the Freak.”

            The steely look in John’s eyes grew harder, “I don’t think I want to be friends with people who call my best friend a freak.”  And with that John turned on his heal dragging Sherlock behind him, leaving a wake of confused children behind him.  Sherlock seemed baffled as John continued to drag him until John abruptly stopped half way down the hallway and slid down against the lockers, dragging Sherlock with him.

            “John,” Sherlock said panicked,  “it's not too late, you can still go back and apologize, they’d still forgive you if you asked.”

            “Sherlock!” John said sharply, cutting off Sherlock’s rambling, “Why would I want to be friends with people who are mean to my best friend?” John asked looking into Sherlock’s shocked eyes.  “You know you're my best mate, right?”  Sherlock hadn’t known but John’s words spread a feeling of warmth through him and a small smile graced his face for the first time that day.  “Is that the reason you didn’t want to come to school?” John asked, “Because those kids were bullying you?”  Sherlock shook his head slightly and his lower lip wobbled a little.

            “I thought you’d leave me,” Sherlock said in a tiny voice, “I thought you would abandon me once you had the chance to make better friends.”  

            “Hey Sherlock, look at me,” John gently tilted Sherlock’s face upward and tucked one of his curls behind his ear, “You are my best friend in the whole world and I will never leave you, o.k.?”

            “O.k.” Sherlock said with a small smile as John settled down next to him, pressing their shoulders together.  Perhaps school wouldn’t be quite as terrible as he had thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The past several chapters have taken place over the space of around 4 months, from this point forward time will be taking bigger leaps. Also, I'm still open for anything that you would like to see happen in the story :)   
> I'd also like to thank all of the people who have taken the time to comment, leave kudos, and to read my story, I'm so pleased that you all are enjoying it :D


	7. Little Loudmouths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have been split up and put into different classes. What sort of mayhem will this cause for everyone?

John could hear the yelling all the way from the second floor, he let out a tired sigh as he finished getting dressed.  He had known that Sherlock wouldn’t be pleased over this but John had expected him to handle it a little bit better than this.

            John and Sherlock were entering year 3, and for the first time since they had been together they would be in separate classes.  Sherlock was a bit not pleased by this.  The shouting had finally died down by the time John made it to the kitchen; however, it did not mean that Sherlock was any more pleased with the situation at hand.  He had wrapped himself up in a bed sheet, drawn his knees up against his chest, and was (very pointedly) not making eye contact with anyone as he pouted.

            “Really Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson said with exasperation, “You are entirely too old to be acting like this!”  The look Sherlock sent her clearly explained that she was quite foolish for thinking that he would ever be to old for one of his legendary sulks.  “If you’re not going to eat anything at least go put your uniform on.” She said tiredly.  Sherlock made no sign of moving from his chair.  John sat down heavily and grabbed a piece of toast.

            “Sherlock,” said John as he put strawberry jam on his toast, “if you are not dressed and back down here by the time I’m done eating, I will leave to walk to school by yourself.”

“You wouldn’t!” Sherlock said, glaring.

“Try me.” Replied John, quirking his eyebrow at Sherlock over his milk glass.  Sherlock’s eye’s widened before he scurried off to get ready, as much as he loathed being in a different class than John was, he would be even more put off if he didn’t even get to walk to school with John.

            15 minutes later John was out the door with a very sulky, but dressed, Sherlock in tow.  Sherlock looked so dejected that John felt a little bit bad about the threat that he had made earlier.  It wasn’t like he was any happier about being separated from Sherlock, but he was a little bit more practical about it than Sherlock was.  John wished that they would still be classmates but he knew realistically it had been bound to happen sooner or later.  Sighing softly, he bumped their shoulders together gently.

            “Come on,” John said, “it’s not that bad.” Sherlock snorted with disbelief.  They entered the schoolyard in silence as the bell went off telling them to line up.  Sherlock lingered reluctantly next to John until he gently shoved him towards his class.  “Go on,” John said, “it wont be that bad.  Maybe you’ll even make some new friends.”  Sherlock shot him a hurt look and John cringed, yea that one wasn’t very likely.  Sherlock was more likely to be bullied than to make friends but John was trying to be positive for the both of them.  After all, they would only be apart for sixish hours, how much trouble could Sherlock get up to in that amount of time?

…

            Quite a lot of trouble apparently.  John was called down to the office at the end of the day.  As he edged into the office he was shocked to find Sherlock there.  He wasn’t pouting anymore but he was chewing on the inside of his mouth in a way that said he was quietly angry, usually over being wrongly accused of something.  The secretary poked her head out of her office and said that she had already talked to Mrs. Hudson and since she couldn’t come get him, Sherlock was being released into John’s custody.

            “What did you do this time?” John asked as they walked down the lane to their home.

            “I just told the teacher that her husband was sleeping with her sister and that her new hair cut made her look ten years older which wasn’t helping matters.” Said Sherlock.

            “Sherlock!”  John was suppressed, the past few years Sherlock had gotten much better at not springing his deductions upon the unsuspecting masses.  He use to just spout the torrent of words on to anyone, from telling their neighbor that his new baby was really the milkman’s or telling the cashier that she had cancer.  Lately he had been able to either keep the deductions inside if they weren’t very interesting or quietly whisper them to John if they were.  It had been ages since Sherlock had burst out with a deduction as bad as that!  “Just try to keep them in o.k.?”  Sherlock nodded.

            However, it proved to be more difficult than John had thought it would be.  Sherlock was ending up in the office multiple times a week.  He had made several girls in his class cry, he had made several parents cry, he had made his teacher cry, again, and this last time had resulted in a boy punching him in the nose. 

            “Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said with irritation, “most people do not appreciate you sharing their entire life story, especially when unpleasant things have happened in them.  Can't you please try to keep your deductions to yourself?”

            “I try,” mumbled Sherlock quietly, holding a bloody tissue to his nose, “but they just burst out.” He said looking quite miserable. 

            Monday morning Sherlock trudged down the stairs, his nose was still discolored and he had deep circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, he sat down at his place only to find a small notebook waiting at his place.

            “What’s this?” Sherlock asked picking up the palm-sized notebook with a smooth black cover.

            “It’s a notebook I got for you,” said John grinning, “this way you can write down all of the interesting deductions you make throughout the day and then you can read them to me at bedtime.”

“Brilliant.” Whispered Sherlock, his eyes lighting up for the first time in what felt like weeks.

…

            As they settled in for the night, Sherlock pulled the small notepad out of his bag and settled himself into the space between John and the wall; it was always his spot when they read at night.  Sherlock flipped open the front cover and began the deductions of the day.

            “Mrs. Swanson, the lunch lady John, has been losing lots of money at the horse races lately, you can tell by the fact that all of her jewelry has been disappearing a piece at a time, you can tell that she just lost a large bet by the fact that…”

            John smiled and snuggled farther under the covers, he had missed this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please feel free to let me know about anything you would like to see in this and as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! :)


	8. Little Scrape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock helps John get cleaned up after he takes a spill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter talks a bit about John's abuse as a child, just fyi. There is also slight mention of blood but it's not graphic.

John poked his head through the doorway looking for Mrs. Hudson, she was nowhere to be found, however, Sherlock was curled up on the couch with a scientific journal.

            “Do you know where Mrs. Hudson is?” John asked.  Sherlock peeked up over the edge of his reading.

            “She’s just left to do the shopping, why?” asked Sherlock, his blue grey eyes taking in John’s disheveled state.

            “Ah, I scraped up my back playing football and I was hopping she could help me clean it up, since I can’t reach it and all.” Said John looking strangely embarrassed by such an ordinary thing.

            “I can help you if you want.” Sherlock said, closing his book, puzzled by how embarrassed John was by something so run of the mill.

            “Sure…” John said hesitantly as he led the way to the bathroom, perching on the edge of the bathtub.  Sherlock left to get the first-aid kit and a flannel, when he came back John was still sitting there, clutching the hem of his tee shirt, small spots of blood seeping through the pale cotton.

            “John,” Sherlock said with a small huff, “how am I supposed to tend to your back with your shirt on?”

            “Right.” John chuckled humorlessly as he peeled his shirt off, hissing as he ripped off a scab that had dried to the cotton, his shoulders tensing as his entire back was exposed.  Sherlock let out a small gasp at the damage before his eyes.  The smattering of bruises and scars that covered John’s back was simply astounding.  The bruises were all recent and Sherlock could tell where each of them had come from, a few of the scars were recent but pale, the one near the waistband of his pants was from when John had fallen out of a tree when they were 7, the one over his ribs was from when John was learning how to ride his bike.  Most of the scars were, however, quite a different matter.  They were at least 6 or 7 years old, from long before Sherlock had known John, they ranged from smaller than his pinky nail to the largest one that was about the size of Sherlock’s palm, stretched tautly across John’s right shoulder blade.  How had Sherlock never noticed this?  As he looked back he realized, with a start, that he had never actually seen John without his shirt off.  When they had gone to the sea or the pool John had always kept his shirt on and John had always changed in the bathroom instead of their shared room.  Sherlock gently reached out a lone finger, tracing the latest of the bruises, sending a shiver up John’s spine.

            “What’s this one from?” Sherlock whispered, his voice close to John’s ear.  John relaxed marginally as Sherlock continued to lightly touch the bruise on his side.

            “I was going down the stairs and I was too busy nagging you to watch where I was going and I tripped down the stairs and ran into the heater.” John chuckled lightly at the memory, Sherlock smiled and moved through the rest of the injuries that he already knew the sources of, gently running his fingers along them, he figured it would calm John down before he asked about the injuries that he actually cared about.

            “That ones form your heel, git,” John said with false irritation, about the circular bruise on his ribs, “you kept digging it into my side whenever you thought the film was dull!”

            “So the whole time then?” Sherlock asked with a smirk.  His hand hovered over the first of the old injuries, he really should clean and bandage the scrapes on John’s back but they wouldn’t get infected in the half hour it would take Sherlock to finish cataloging John’s back.  Sherlock had the feeling that if he let John get his tee back on then he would lose this opportunity forever.  Sherlock carefully circled a small scar in the middle of John’s back, resting directly over a vertebra.

            “What’s this from?” Sherlock asked quietly, still circling the mark.

            “It’s a cigarette burn,” John whispered, “Harry gave it to me, Harry was drunk, didn’t mean to…” John trailed off; John rarely talked about his older brother, and Sherlock couldn’t blame him.  Who would want to talk about a sibling like this?  Who burned a four year old like this?  Sherlock continued with the rest of the marks, most of them were cigarette burns, some were from the belt buckle of long ago beatings, a few from broken objects that had been thrown at him out of anger.  Sherlock finally reached the final mark, perfectly circular where flesh had been ripped by something sharp and lethal.  Sherlock spread his hand over it, tracing the outline with tentative fingers.

            “And this one?” asked the raven locked boy tentatively; worried that this was the question that would cause John to bolt.  John took a shaky breath before settling himself.

            “I got stabbed with a broken wine bottle.”  John stopped and was silent for such a long time that Sherlock thought that this might be all he would ever learn of this mark.  Sherlock was about to start cleaning the wounds, his original purpose for seeing John shirtless, when John opened his mouth to start speaking again.  “My dad was beating my mum, as usual, and I decided to speak up.” He reached over his shoulder to touch the scar; “I guess he put me in my place.” John said bitterly, moving to pull away from Sherlock when the other boy’s hand clasped John’s shoulder to prevent him from pulling away.  Sherlock leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to the center of the scar, his dry, slightly chapped lips pressed feather light against the unblemished skin at the center of the scar.  John blushed faintly at this unaccustomed display of affection, even though Sherlock had little regard for personal space, this was passing a line even for him.

            “You have always been so brave John.” Sherlock whispered against John’s back, his forehead resting lightly on his neck, before he straightened up to clean and cover the scrapes.  "The bravest man I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out things will probably be getting pretty angsty as they are entering their teenage years! I was planing on revealing Sherlock's back story in the next chapter but I kind of want to but Harry's wedding before that, so within the next two chapters you will be getting Sherlock's back story. But honestly we are heading into major angst here, so ready yourselves, however, I can reassure you that no matter how angst filled it gets it WILL have a happy ending!  
> As always, I love hearing from you guys and I love hearing about anything that you want to see in this fic.


	9. Little Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock star gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! :(   
> I was away at a conference, then I was sick, then I had 9 million essays to write for school, leaving no time or energy for fun writing :(  
> But now I have time and energy!!!!! So here is a short fluffy chapter to get myself back in the fanfic writing mood!

They lay next to each other; shoulders pressed together, as they sleepily watched the stars above them. Sherlock could have cared less, “they are stars John! They don’t matter!”, but he knew that John liked these sorts of things so he had agreed to this midsummer’s star gazing. The smell of fresh green grass surrounded them in the dark slightly muggy silence.  They would be headed to a new school in the fall, they were growing up and things were changing but right now John was content to lie in the slightly long grass and enjoy their summer.  John had started to doze off when he heard Sherlock mumble something beside him.

            “Huh?” John mumbled.

            “Promise you’ll never leave me.” Sherlock slurred sleepily.

            “Of course I won’t,” John replied, head lolled to the side to look at Sherlock, “we’re like family.”

            “But family leaves,” Sherlock said, seeming to snap awake as he propped himself up on one elbow to get a proper look at John, “family abandons you, or they find more important people, or they just get fed up with you, family leaves.” Sherlock had gotten that little pinched look he got when he was truly worried about something. Mycroft was going to boarding school in the fall and no matter how poorly he and Sherlock got on, John supposed that in the end Sherlock still cared about his older brother. In his oddly possessive way, Sherlock probably felt betrayed by Mycroft, he was going somewhere where Sherlock couldn’t follow for at least three more years.  Sherlock’s world was changing and he hated change. He liked to have constants in his life, from the brand of bread they bought to the color of his bedroom walls to the organization of his books, so Mycroft leaving must really be throwing him for a loop.  John knocked Sherlock’s hand out from under his chin, causing the boy to squeak in an undignified manner as he tried (and failed) to keep himself up right.  John pulled Sherlock into a tight hug, burying his nose in the other boy’s raven curls.

           “You know I’ll never leave you,” John said, hugging Sherlock tighter, “cus’ you see, I said we’re _like_ family, but were not.  We’re the family that we’ve chosen for our selves, which means that we’ll never abandon the other, o.k?” John asked, embarrassedly he buried his face back into Sherlock’s hair, worried that he’d said too much or the wrong thing.  John held his breath until he felt Sherlock relax into the embrace.

            “Thanks.” Sherlock whispered as he turned his head to the side, searching until he found Johns heartbeat.  He didn’t know why but it always calmed him down.  The steady thrum of blood moving through John’s arteries always calmed Sherlock down. It let him know that John was safe and John was here.  Listening to the flow of John’s blood gently lulled Sherlock off to sleep against Johns chest. Tomorrow they may be bug bitten and wet from morning dew, but for now they were safe and they were together and that was all that was actually important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel really bad that I don't include Mycroft more but that's just the way it ends up!  
> I'm back in the swing of things and I'm on spring break so expect more updates on this fic!  
> Later today I'm planing on uploading another chapter, so be on the look out for that! It will be the long awaited Sherlock back story, so get excited!!!  
> Also, thank you sooo much for reading my work and taking the time to leave kudos and comments, it really means the world to me! As always, I love to hear from all of you lovely people and I'm always interested in where you want this story to go!  
> I love all of you lovely people and I hope you have a really excellent day!


	10. Little Headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets beat up and shares a bit about his past.  
> Trigger warnings for homophobic language, violence, bullying, and neglect. Poor Sherlock :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer to write than I though it would, so I apologize for the delays. It was actually really difficult for me to write, mainly because I find it hard to write from Johns point of view, but I hope you guys like it!

John pulled his school shirt back on, tugged on his jumper, and shoved his grass stained football gear into his duffle before rushing out of the locker-room with a quick wave to his teammates.  John had been one of the last people to make his way in to change, it was his turn to clean up after practice, and he didn’t want to make Sherlock wait much longer if he could help it.  But to John’s surprise, Sherlock was nowhere to be found.  He wasn’t perched imperiously on the bleachers or leaning against the wall outside of the locker-room peering disdainfully down his nose at the other students passing by.   He couldn’t be in the library, it was closed for reshelving, and John didn’t think that he was late enough for Sherlock to have gone home without him.

            John poked his head back into the locker-room, “Has anyone seen Sherlock?”

            “He was in here about ten minutes ago,” a gangly red head said, “I think he was getting his coat or something out of your locker when some older boys from rugby came by and…”  John didn’t wait for him to finish before yelling out a hurried thanks and rushing off down the hallways and out onto the street.

            The bullying hadn’t been that bad the past couple of years. People knew that John wouldn’t stand for anyone giving his best friend any crap, so they generally left Sherlock alone, and anyone who was thick enough to pick on Sherlock after a warning was dealt with quickly.  With the change in school, they had left behind most of their primary school classmates, meaning that no one knew of any reason to pick on Sherlock.  John had been pretty relaxed lately, he probably shouldn’t have been. He and Sherlock hardly had any classes together, so how was John supposed to know how he was getting on? Sherlock had never mentioned anything so John had just assumed everything was fine, he should have known better, Sherlock had a knack for making enemies wherever he went. John put on a burst of speed with that last thought, desperately peering down side streets for a glimpse of raven hair.  He ended up hearing them before he could actually see what was happening.

            “I’ll ask you again you fucking fag,” the larger boy yelled, shaking Sherlock by his collar, “what were you doing in the locker-room? Copping a little look see?” Practically growling, his face mere centimeters from Sherlock’s, errant drops of spittle hitting Sherlock. 

            With an annoyed tsk, Sherlock pulled his face as far as he could from the other boy’s.  “I already told you,” said Sherlock rolling his eyes, “I was getting my belongings, If your not going to listen properly then I might as well not bother replying to you.” Sherlock sneered, “and even if I was, as you so elegantly put it ‘copping a little look see’” Sherlock even pulled out the sarcastic little quotation marks, “I certainly wouldn't be trying to look at _you_.”  John would have been quite proud of, if the person on the receiving end of Sherlock’s retort hadn’t been a head taller than either of them and at least three times thicker than Sherlock could ever hope to be.

            The older boy also seemed to agree that this was not the time for Sherlock to be sassing him off, as his eyes turned dark and his nostrils flared. He shook Sherlock vigorously by the collar, lifting him slightly off the floor, leaving Sherlock gasping for breath before slamming the slighter teen against the brick wall. Sherlock’s head whipped back, making a sickening noise that told John that something was very wrong.

            “You have something to say you fucking fag?” He yelled shaking Sherlock by his collar, his head lolling as his eyes threatened to roll back into his head.  The older boy released him, Sherlock’s knees buckled under the unexpected weight sending him tumbling to the asphalt.  A few well-aimed kicks left him gasping for breath as the bully leered down at the slender boy. “Not so clever now, ay?” he asked smirking, to engrossed in tormenting the younger student to notice John until the blonds fist connected with his jaw.  “What the hell…” he turned around, head reeling from the first hit, only to receive another fist to his nose.  The bully jerked back in shock as he felt something warm trickle on to his lip, he’d just been looking for an easy target to blow off some steam, he’d never wanted any trouble.  He nearly fell over himself in his haste to get away, but John had already turned his back on the older boy and was kneeling next to Sherlock.

            “Sherlock!” John called urgently, patting the other boy’s face hoping to get a reaction.  He wanted to shake him by his scrawny shoulders and scream at him but John had a vague memory that that was not the best way to treat someone who had suffered trauma to the head. Sherlock blearily opened his eyes, pupils blown wide, probably not a good sign.

            “John!” Sherlock slurred, a wide smile crookedly plastered on his face, eyes threatening to roll back into his head.

            “Sherlock, try to keep your eyes open for me, o.k?” John asked as he dug around desperately for his mobile.

            “O.k.,” Sherlock groaned lightly, “I don’t feel good.”  He groaned again, trying to turn away from John to curl up in a ball to lessen the pain.

           “Oy! Sherlock!” John cried, grabbing Sherlock’s hand away from where he was trying to cover his eyes, “I’m calling someone to come get us, I just need you to stay awake until they come fetch us, alright?”  The slight boy struggled to keep his eyes open for John but his head hurt so badly, and he was so tired.  He really tried his best but before he knew it his eyes rolling back into his head and he was oblivious to John’s frantic cries.

 

…

            Sherlock groaned as he blinked into consciousness, squinting against the sudden brightness.  He glanced around the unfamiliar room, the drip in his arm, a heart rate monitor, John sitting in one of those green plastic hospital chairs, so he was in a hospital then.

            “John, “ Sherlock said, his tongue felt heavy and clumsy in his mouth, “what am I doing here?” he asked, struggling to sit up.

            “Stop that,” John said as he gently pushed Sherlock back down onto the bed, “don’t you remember? You hit your head when you were sassing off that rugby player.”

            “I don’t remember.” Sherlock muttered to himself threading his fingers into his curls tugging at them sharply.

            “Whoa, Sherlock, stop that!” John said, startled by Sherlock’s reaction, as he tried to stop Sherlock’s frantic pulling of his hair.  “What’s wrong?”

            “I don’t remember!” Sherlock’s head snapped up, his eye’s blown wide with fear, “If I don’t have my memory I don’t have anything!”  His breathing grew more ragged as his fingers found there way back into his hair.

            “Sherlock, it’s fine,” John tried to calm him as the beeping from the monitor climbed dangerously, “you’re the smartest person I know, forgetting something like this isn’t the end of the world.  You hit your head, it’s normal to forget things after something like that, yhea?”

            “You don’t understand John!  All I have is my brain!  I probably have a concussion; concussions can lead to a greater loss of mental functions later on in life, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to end up just like her!” Sherlock’s breathing was skyrocketing again.

            “Sherlock, Slow down! What are you talking about?” John had never seen his friend so distressed before.  Sherlock was still muttering to himself rapidly, not seeing anything around him or hearing a word that John was saying.  “Sherlock!” John captured Sherlock’s hands between his until Sherlock stopped his frantic muttering and looked up, “What’s wrong?”

            “I’m going to lose my memory, I’m going to end up like _her_.” Sherlock’s hands quivered slightly between John’s.

            “Like who?”

            “Like my mother.” Said Sherlock, meeting John’s eyes for the first time.

            “She was the smartest person I’ve ever met, she was even smarter than Mycroft or Father.  She ran a laboratory in her spare time. I mean come on! The woman was a genius!” Sherlock chuckled bitterly, “Even though she was busy, she was an excellent mother and I adored her.  She was everything that anyone could ever hope to be.  But after Father died, she just, lost it.  He died in a car accident when I was three.  Mycroft was already at boarding school by then, he came home for the funeral, but he returned to school after a week, leaving me alone with her.”

            Sherlock pulled his hands away from John, turning slightly so that he didn’t have to look at John while he told the rest of the story.  “She never really accepted that Father was dead,” Sherlock said quietly, “in fact she didn’t even remember that he was dead. She would come sweeping into the kitchen demanding to know why there were only two places set at the table and the cook would have to remind her that her husband was dead, then she would break into hysterics and wouldn’t come out of her room for days at a time. Soon she began forgetting more and more things.  She would forget to go to work, or she would forget that the car had been taken into the shop, or she would forget me at the park.  It wasn’t too bad at first,” Sherlock said sneaking a glance at John’s shocked face, “there were plenty of servants there who made sure that things ran smoothly and that I was taken care of.  But things continued to get worse; she’d stay in her room for days at a time, not even coming out to eat.  Or she’s drive off and no one would know where she was for days at a time.  She started forgetting about me more often, leaving me in shops or parks or the library, she’d leave me there for hours before anyone from the house noticed I was missing and would come to fetch me. She’d become even more withdrawn and we wouldn’t hear her speak for days on end.  Then she started dismissing the servants one by one until there was no one left. She would forget to buy groceries, she’d leave the water running until it had overflowed the tub, she’d leave the car running till it ran out of petrol.  Then she started disappearing.” Sherlock took a deep shuttering breath, “She’d leave some food out for me and then she would just disappear for days, I mean, I know I was a bright child but still, I was only tree. How could she have done this to me?” Sherlock asked, running his hands through his hair, not pulling it yet but coming close to it.  “That day started out like any other day, she got up at noon and left out enough food to feed me for the next several days before driving off and leaving me alone. But this time she didn’t come back. I finished the food she had left out on the fourth day and she still hadn’t returned, she always came back after three days. I didn’t know how to use the phone yet so I just sat in the entryway, waiting for her to return. A few days after that our neighbor got worried, she knew that Mother hadn’t been doing well, and she hadn’t seen the car in a few days.  She came over to see how we were doing and saw me passed out in the foyer. The police had to come and smash out a window to get me out, I had collapsed from sever dehydration and malnutrition. They took my brother and I into protective custody and a few weeks later they found my mother. She was found several towns over; she didn’t remember anything of importance besides her name. She would occasionally remember Mycroft but she never remembered me…  When they brought us in to see her, she just looked confused. She looked to the officer with us and asked her why she’d brought her kids to work.  We visit her every year, she always asks us where her son is. She holds up an old picture of Mycroft and when we try to tell her that Mycroft is her son she just laughs at us. She tells us that her son isn’t that old yet, then she asks when her husband will come visit her…” Sherlock trailed off, “After she was committed, the battles over our inheritance started. Dozens of relatives claiming that they loved us so dearly, that they had always thought of us as their sons when they hadn’t seen us in years, when you could see the bank notes dancing in their eyes. When it came time to read our parents last will and testament and it became clear that our caregivers would never have access to any money beyond educational expenses, the offers of house and home dropped away leaving us wards of the state.  She abandoned us John!  She left us to face that pack of wolves all on our own!  She lost the battle with her own mind!” Sherlock bitterly spat out “I never want to turn into her, I’d rather die than lose my mind like that.”  Tears started to well in his blue eyes.  John reached out and folded Sherlock into a hug.

              “That’s never going to happen.” John said, quieting Sherlock’s protests by hugging him tighter, “You’re not her and she’s not you and there is no reason for you to end up like she did, o.k?” 

              “But what if I do? You can’t promise something like that John.” Sherlock said, snuffling lightly, griping tightly to John’s jumper.

              “Then I’ll be sure to find it again for you.  Don’t give me that look!” Sherlock had pulled back to shoot a look of disbelief at John. “Listen,” John said, pulling Sherlock back into their embrace, stroking his neck gently to help calm him down, “if your mind abandons you one day, I will stay with you until you find it again, even if that day never comes we’ll stay together, alright?” Sherlock nodded minutely and buried his face in John’s shoulder.  

             “You’re the first person I’ve ever told.” Sherlock mumbled into the fabric of John’s jumper, “thanks for listening all of the way through. And thanks for your promise.” Sherlock said thickly.

             “What else are friends for?” John asked with a small smile before he released him from their embrace and scooting on to the hospital bed, sitting so that their shoulders were barely touching.  They sat there, hands entwined, arms and shoulders occasionally brushing, till a nurse poked her head around the curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point onwards they are moving into their angsty teenage years, so expect it to get a bit darker and a lot more angst! But they will also start to think through their feelings for each other, so that's something to look forward to!  
> As always, I love to hear from you guys and it really encourages me to keep on going! I appreciate the time you've taken to read this work, I adore all of you, and I hope you have a wonderful day! :)


	11. Little Rearrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John moves into a new room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some extra time and inspiration today, so here, have another mini chapter!

“So, I was thinking,” said Mrs. Hudson while stirring the sugar into her tea, “now that Mycroft is heading off to University next year, and he so rarely comes home from school, that his room is just going to waste.” She smiled into her tea, “John, I was wondering if you might like to move into his old room, give you boys some more room now that the two of you are growing up.”  Before John could even open his mouth to say whether he even wanted the room or not, Sherlock interrupted.

            “Why do we need more space?  It’s not like John takes up very much space, he hasn’t grown in years.” Sherlock said with a smirk.

            “Oy!” John interjected.

            “Settle down boys,” Mrs. Hudson said, taking a sip of her tea, “I just thought that since your growing up you might like a little… privacy.” She finished with a pointed look in John’s direction.  The blond haired teen flushed hotly thinking of the soiled pajama bottoms and pants that he had shoved to the bottom of the hamper, the hurried wanks in the shower, the magazines he had hidden under his mattress (actually he was quite sure that Sherlock knew about those but he liked to pretend that they were secret for his own sense of propriety).

            “Why?” Sherlock asked, looking honestly perplexed as he glanced between Mrs. Hudson’s surprised expression and John’s beet red face.

            “It’s a great idea Mrs. Hudson,” John said, clearing his throat with embarrassment, “has Mycroft already moved his things out or do we need to do that?” John asked, ignoring Sherlock’s flabbergasted expression.

            “I cleared it out earlier this morning, you just have to move your things in and it will be all set up.”  Sherlock couldn’t seem to believe that he was actually hearing this, looking frantically between John and Mrs. Hudson as if this might clear things up. When an answer that he liked more was not forth coming Sherlock settled into pout mode.

…

            Hours latter as John was packing his things into boxes, Sherlock was still sulking.  He was curled up on his bed, his back to the room, as he refused to make eye contact or help John move.

            “Come on Sherlock,” John said sighing, he was already fed up with this childish act, “it’s not like I’m going that far away.  I am literally moving two rooms over! It’s not like anything is going to change.”

            “It’s the first step.” Sherlock muttered.

            “What?”

            “Nothing.” Sherlock rolled over on to his back still pouting, now at the celling instead of the misfortunate wall.

            John sighed, “Come on Sherlock, help me move my things then we can set up some more space for your experiments.”  Sherlock brightened marginally at that and heaved himself off of the bed, scooping up several boxes before heading to the doorway.  John smiled and was just straightening up with his own armful of boxes when Sherlock’s head popped back around the doorframe.

            “Oh, and John,” Sherlock said with a twinkle in his eyes, “don’t forget your magazines under the mattress, they are quite dull so don’t bother leaving them for me to look at.”  Sherlock ducked just in time to avoid getting a sock to the face.

            “Don’t you have any sense of privacy?” John asked red faced.

            “Nope,” Sherlock replied cheekily, “if you didn’t want me to look at them you should have found a better hiding spot!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter there will be a kiss ;) but it won't be between John and Sherlock :( Poor Sherlock!  
> As always I love to hear from you lovely people! I have a basic outline for how the main story is going to go but if you have any ideas for any mini chapters like this feel free to make a request!  
> Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you all have lovely days/nights!


	12. Little Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sees something that he wishes he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this begins so serious angst, enjoy?

Sherlock glanced at his watch John was 15 minutes late.  They always met up in front of the school after John’s practice for them to make the trek back home together.  John’s practice finished at 4:30, then he took between 5 and ten minutes to change and chat with his teammates, even taking into consideration the possibility that they hadn’t been let out of practice on time, John was still late. Sherlock checked his phone for any missed texts in case John was going out with his teammates after practice or had forgotten to tell Sherlock about a meeting or something like that, nothing.  Huffing with annoyance Sherlock set off to search for John.  He hadn’t forgotten anything in the classroom, there was noting left in his locker; even the locker-room was cleared out by now.  He tried ringing John’s mobile but it went straight through to the answering machine, John was always forgetting to charge it. Sherlock sighed and headed off to walk home by himself.  He rounded the corner heading towards the athletic fields and he found John.

            He was standing facing the chain-link fence, but that wasn’t all he was facing.  Between John and the fence stood a girl with waist length curly honey colored hair, she had pretty pink skin and her ears were flushed a darker pink hue.  Sherlock stopped short, eyes spreading wide at the sight before him.  They were so close together, his hands on her waist, her hands on his shoulders.  Their faces, hands, bodies, lips all pressed so closely together, there wasn’t even room for air between them.  John’s body was pressed firmly into hers, their lips moving against each other, and Sherlock felt like someone had driven a knife into his chest.

            John’s eye’s flicked open, making direct contact with Sherlock’s panicked gaze. Sherlock turned on his heel and quickly took off in the opposite direction, he went faster and faster until he had broken out into a full out sprint.  He finally stopped running when his breath was coming in shallow puffs, he doubled over, clutching his hands his stomach as he squatted down by the side of the road.  He struggled to get his breath back as he looked around; he’d been running in the exact opposite direction he needed to go.  Still struggling to get his breath back, he turned around and began the long trudge back home.

            Why did it cause him so much pain to see John kissing someone? He had felt like he had been stabbed over and over again in the chest with a dull knife, his stomach was still churning with bile (that could just be a result of his sprint, he’d have to wait and see if it was), his lungs had frozen and struggled to pump air into his blood, his blood had seemed to turn to ice in his veins.  There was no logical explanation for his symptoms. Sherlock firmly slapped his hands against his cheeks hopping to snap himself out of whatever this was. He remained lost in thought till he smacked his forehead into the back door.  He rubbed the sore spot as he unlocked the door and tried to slip in undetected. 

            “Sherlock? Is that you?” Mrs. Hudson called from the front room, “What kept you so late?” She asked glancing at the clock.

            “I took a walk after school.” Sherlock replied tightly, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

            “Do you have John with you?” She asked poking her head into the kitchen.

            “No,” Sherlock answered, “I expect he’ll be a bit later, he was quite busy snogging some girl.”

            “Oh Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson took one look at her boy’s face and knew what was wrong, “do you want to talk about it love?”

            “No, what’s there to talk about?” he asked with a pinched look on his face, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go lay down, I have a headache.” Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose as he stumbled up the stairs, glad to have his room to himself for once.

            Mrs. Hudson cringed as she heard the door slam shut, really, what were her boy’s thinking.  She sighed as she made some tea; her boy’s were entering into their troublesome teenage years and she had a feeling that they would hurt each other quite a bit before they were done with this stage.  She had a feeling that Sherlock would come out especially battered by it if today was anything to judge it by.

            Sherlock slammed his door shut and threw his bag into the corner before collapsing face first into his bed.  He curled into himself, long limbs wrapping around his knees as he tucked his face into them.  What was wrong with him? There was no reason for him to feel this way, he should be happy for John.  That’s what a normal friend would do right?  Normal people wanted to kiss pretty girls, right?  So Sherlock should be happy for John, he was getting exactly what he wanted and so Sherlock should be happy about this. But why did he feel so miserable?

            The tight feeling hadn’t eased from his chest and his stomach was churning worse then it had been before.  Perhaps he was getting a fever, no, his temperature felt normal. Sherlock rubbed his temples; he really was getting a migraine from trying to figure this out. Was he embarrassed about seeing John’s kiss?  That could explain why he’d felt the need to flee from the scene.  It would be logical for him to feel embarrassed, he happened upon something that was supposed to be a private moment.  But that didn’t explain how hurt he had felt about it all, the churning feeling in his stomach, the constricting of his lungs.  Those weren’t things you felt when you were embarrassed. Did he feel betrayed by John’s actions? That didn’t quite make sense to him but it could be a possible explanation.  He and John shared everything with one another so he could feel betrayed by John keeping something this important from him, but this explanation didn’t feel right either.  Sherlock rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes; he could feel the dull pound on his growing migraine against the inside of his skull.  He hated when he couldn’t solve a puzzle, doubly so when the puzzle was about him.  This was not the way you were suppose to feel when you saw your best mate kissing some girl, it wasn’t normal.  But then Sherlock had always known he wasn’t normal, he’d been told often enough that he was a freak to know that it was true.  Why couldn’t he figure something so simple out?

            He groaned as the full weight of the migraine hit him. It was too bright in the room. He flipped the lights off in the room and staggered over to the windows to block the few remaining rays of sun from reaching his eyes.  He needed to get painkillers and some water, preferably before John got back, he really did not fancy a meeting with John right now.  He opened the door to discover that Mrs. Hudson had left a small tray outside his door with a bowl full of soup a glass of water and some pharmaceuticals. The thought of eating the soup turned his stomach but he scooped up the pills and popped them into his mouth before chugging the glass of water and placing it back on the tray before gingerly closing the door.  He stripped out of his uniform, throwing it on the ground, he knew it would be wrinkled in the morning but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. He climbed up into bed, cocooning himself in blankets before curling up into a ball.  Sherlock whished he could just go to sleep and when he’d wake up it would all be figured out with nothing else for him to worry about. His lips trembled but he pressed them tightly together, willing the illogical tears back down. Fuck, something was really wrong with him wasn’t there?  Sherlock quickly fell into an uneasy sleep, plagued with shadowy nightmares of John kissing a multitude of featureless women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking about possibly doing the next chapter of the same events but from Johns point of view, however, I really have a difficult time writing from his perspective but I can still do it. So let me know if you would like for me to write that because if I get enough people who want to read that I will write it!
> 
> Thank you for reading my work! I put a lot of time and energy into this and it always makes me happy to know that others enjoy reading what I enjoyed writing! So I always love to hear from you lovely people and I hope you're having a lovely weekend!


	13. Little Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's in denial and is bad at processing feelings or the kiss from John's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically full of John being dense and inadvertently hurting everyone.

John let himself in the backdoor, “I’m home.” He called out to the seemingly empty house.

            “Welcome home dear,” Mrs. Hudson murmured meandering into the kitchen shooting John an accusatory look, “if you’re going to be this late could you try to let me know, if Sherlock hadn’t told me you’d be late I would have been quite worried.”

            “Where is Sherlock?” John asked fidgeting slightly, “I had some things I wanted to talk to him about.”

            “I’m sure you do.” Mrs. Hudson muttered to herself before turning to John, “He had a bit of a headache when he came home so he’s having a bit of a rest, why don’t you go check on him?” She asked giving him a knowing look. John flushed under her all knowing gaze before nodding and making his escape to the second floor.

            He dropped his things in Mycroft’s old room; he hadn’t lived in it long enough to feel that it was actually his yet, before positioning himself in front of Sherlock’s door.  “Sherlock?” he whispered, knocking softly.  When there was no response from the other side, he carefully eased the door open, mindful of the squeaky hinge, stepped over the uneaten bowl of soup, and let himself into the darkened room.  Sherlock was fast asleep, curled into a tight bundle of blankets, his brow furrowed from the headache.  Sherlock got migraines from time to time, usually around times when he was stressed out or unhappy, John felt guilty that he was probably the cause of this. John reached a hand out and gently pushed back Sherlock’s damp curls.  Sherlock’s brow relaxed and he pushed his cheek into John’s cool hand. John jerked back like he’d been burned. This was exactly the reason that he’d needed to put a little space between the two of them, even if it was only a couple doors of space. 

            These less than platonic feelings had stared about a year ago. Sherlock had really started to shoot up then.  Sherlock had always been a bit taller than John, but he had suddenly been a good head taller than John was.  He didn’t seem to have any of that awkward scrawniness that other boys seemed to get when they hit their growth spurt, he simply seemed to stretch, limbs becoming long and elegant. The small amount of baby fat that he had melted away making him appear several years older. John had noticed some of the older girls looking at him and he wasn’t sure he liked it.  It was around this time that he would find himself just staring at Sherlock.  When he’d be sitting at his desk, bent over a book, the nape of his neck peaking out from his dark curls.  Or when Sherlock would get back from taking a shower, hair damp, small rivulets of water soaking the neck of his shirt.  Or when he would get up in the morning and stretch, exposing a sliver of pale skin. John would get the overwhelming urge to run his finger along the exposed pale skin; he wanted to run his hands through his dark curls, he wanted to do several things that were definitely not the way you were suppose to look at your roommate.  Usually he was able to cover up those desires, because he was not gay, thank you very much, with a clap on the shoulder, or he’d grab a towel and dry Sherlock’s hair while nagging him to do it properly himself, or he’d just take a deep breath and simply turn away.

            That worked for a while, he convinced himself that this was okay, that he just was close to Sherlock because they were best friends and they had always been together.  That was all, because he John Watson was not gay!  That was before Sherlock started showing up in his dreams.  The first time he’d figured that it was just a fluke, but when it started happening on a regular bases he’d started to question his stance that he was 100% straight.  He’d jumped at the chance to change rooms, he just needed to put some space between them, even though Sherlock’s face had crumpled like that, it was really for the best. It was what was best.

            He’d been rushing after practice; the coach had kept them late. John’s phone had run out of battery as usual, he really needed to remember to charge it, so he couldn’t shoot Sherlock message to let him know he’d be late, when she had cornered him. She had been waiting for him outside the locker room.  Her name was Emily and she was pretty enough, with big green eyes, honey curls, and strawberry and cream skin. They had been lab partners in biology a few weeks ago and she was nice enough but John hadn’t really spared her another thought.  But there she was, all nerves and curls, a pale flush on her cheeks as she asked if she could talk to him for a few minutes.  His teammates has whistled and hooted at him as she led him behind the school to the athletic field, where they could be alone.

            She admitted that she had liked him for a long time and stammered about how she would really like to go out with him.  John thought about it, she was quite pretty and she was even shorter than him, which was a feat all on it’s own, but he didn’t really feel any differently about her then he did about any of the other girls he knew. He was about to let her down gently when she grabbed his face and, wow, so that’s what kissing was like. His hand’s slipped down to her waist and he was kissing her back, he quite liked it actually. See?  Not gay.  It was a bit awkward as all first kisses were but John pressed in a bit, her soft body pressed tightly against hers, when he felt someone looking at them. His eye’s flicked open and met with Sherlock’s shocked gaze.  Before John could do anything, Sherlock had turned away and taken off in the opposite direction. John pulled away from the kiss with a slight smack; he was about to apologies and run after Sherlock when he looked down.  She had a darker flush to her face but she had a slight, self-satisfied smile on her face as she looked shyly up at him, and he knew it would crush her if he rejected her now. And that’s how John Hamish Watson got his first girlfriend. 

He walked home a bit later with conflicting feelings.  There was a slight spring in his step, he was the first of their group of friends to get a girlfriend, a highly sought after status symbol, but at the same time their was a slight churning in his stomach. He had enjoyed the kiss but at the same time he couldn’t get Sherlock’s expression out of his head. Why did he feel so guilty about it? He and Sherlock didn’t have anything between them, so he didn’t have any reason to feel guilty, but he still felt guilty both towards Sherlock and towards Emily and he wasn’t quite sure why. Then he’d come home, and Mrs. Hudson had given him that all knowing look, she probably did know everything, she probably knew more about him than he knew about himself, and he’d felt the guilt grow heavier in his stomach.  He had no reason to feel guilty though!  He should be euphoric!  He had a cute girlfriend and he’d had his first kiss and it had felt great so it sealed that he was definitely not gay!  So everything was going great in his life and all of his problems had worked themselves out, but then he looked down at Sherlock’s sleeping face and all of the unsure feelings welled up again. 

            “Sorry,” John whispered, brushing the damp fringe off of his forehead.  He knew how afraid Sherlock was about losing anyone in his life, of being cast away and forgotten, and that was the reason he had made that face both at John moving rooms and kissing Emily.  John wished it meant something else but it was just childish attachment and a fear of being replaced.  John knew all of this but he was still going to push Sherlock away.  He knew that it would hurt Sherlock, but it was something he had to do.  “Sorry,” he reiterated as he placed a butterfly light kiss on Sherlock’s clammy forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now in the age of John denying his attraction for Sherlock and everyone generally being useless and hurtful :( a.k.a. they are being dumb teens and Mrs. Hudson has to sit there and suffer their angst. 
> 
> John will be dating many girls from this point on ward so if you want to name John's girlfriend leave a name in the comments!
> 
> I have loved hearing from you lovely people and as always I would love to hear from you more! Thank you for reading this and I hope you're having a good weekend!


	14. Little Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and his first girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sherlock :(

Of course they never discussed the events of that afternoon, hey pretended that it had never even happened. Emily became part of their life. Sherlock found that she was a nice, though slightly slow, girl, which made him feel even worse about how much he hated seeing her a John together.  He hated when she pressed her body into John’s, or when John draped his arm around her shoulder, the way she laughed when John said something clever, the way she was always present, he especially hated the way that she and John would spend hours together and it was not socially acceptable for Sherlock to be there as well.  Because as much as he hated when she spent time with them, he hated it even more when it was just her and John. He hated how John would spend ages preening in front of the mirror, asking Sherlock at least ten times if he looked all right, before he would go waltzing off to pick her up where they would then disappear for hours doing coupley things. But what was even worse than when they went out on dates was when they would spend time together at the house.

            At least when they were out on the town Sherlock didn’t have to be witness to their sickeningly sweet behavior.  He didn’t have to watch John steal his arm around her, or watch her nuzzle into his chest, or see them cuddle on the couch, his couch. It felt like she had invaded the last safe space that he had, a space that had been just his and John’s, and now her presence had ruined it all.  It brought back the thick angry feelings of his youth, he hadn’t felt that way in years and he hated it.  Sherlock would come home from collecting samples at the pond or getting a book from the library and she would be sitting there on the couch, wrapped in John’s arms, cuddling and watching one of their movies.  He wanted to yell at her and insult her and drive her out of the house and out of their lives, but he couldn’t do that because John had chosen her and John liked her and John would probably never speak to him again if he did that. So instead of emotionally scaring her like he wanted to, he pasted on a thin brittle smile, a smile that was waiting to shatter into a million pieces, and whenever he saw them he pretended to be happy for them because if John was happy that was all that mattered.

            “Sherlock,” she would call in her sugary sweet voice, “come join us!” She would call from the couch, and he could tell that she genuinely meant it, which made him feel even worse that he despised her so greatly.

            “I’m afraid I already have plans,” He would reply, pasting the false smile on his face, “thank you though.”  Then he would lock himself away until she was gone and it was safe to emerge.

            “He hates me doesn't he?” She would ask John tearfully after Sherlock had rejected her invitation for the umpteenth time.

            “He doesn't hate you Emily,” John would reassure her, “it just takes him time to get use to new people.”

            That night, after Emily had gone home, John materialized in Sherlock’s doorway. “It wouldn’t kill you to be just a little bit nicer to her.” John said, his arms crossed over his chest. Sherlock sprang up in bed, staring at John, flabbergasted.

            “That is me being nice to her!” he exclaimed. “I’m already being nicer to her than I am to anyone else!”  He shot John his most indignant look.

            “Just accept her invitation next time, alright?” John sighed exasperatedly.

            And that is how Sherlock found himself jammed onto the couch with John and his girlfriend watching some sort dreadful romantic comedy. He sat, wedged against the arm of the couch, legs pulled up to his chest as he pouted into his knees. He didn't mind being pressed so closely against John but he hated how by default it meant that Emily was pressed even more tightly against him.  Her incessant tittering was giving him a headache, he pulled his knees closer to his body, he just wanted this blasted evening to be over.

            “Sherlock,” John took his hand and gave it a squeezes, waiting until he looked up, “come on, just watch it, it’s not that bad.”  And it wasn’t that bad, not with John’s thigh pressed against his and John’s hand wrapped around his, if he could watch the movie like that then it wouldn’t be that bad at all.  The moment was spoiled, however, by Emily’s shrill laugh ringing out once more, and John smiling in return, and John releasing his hand to wrap her hand in both of his.  Sherlock felt the anger coiling in his stomach once more and he felt the need to flee before he’d do something he’d regret.  He stood up abruptly to the surprise of the others and stormed up the stairs.

            “Sherlock!” John called after him, getting up to follow him, catching up to him partway up the stairs.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” John yelled, grabbing Sherlock’s wrist.

            “Don't,” Sherlock said quietly.

            “Don’t what?” asked John, clearly exasperated at whatever had ruined the evening that had seemed to be going so smoothly before.

            “Don’t make me go back down!” Sherlock turned and faced John, his face was crumpled and if John didn’t know any better he would have thought that Sherlock was about to cry.  “I don’t care if you go on dates with her, and hold her hand in the corridors, and kiss her at your locker, and hold her close when you watch films, but don’t make me watch you!” Sherlock yelled, “I can be kind to her and smile when the two of you are together, but don’t try to make me part of _this,_ I do not belong in it!”  Sherlock’s voice had lost its anger; it just sounded sad and tired as he jerked his wrist out of John’s grasp, “Tell Emily I’m sorry I ruined your evening.” He turned and slammed his door leaving John standing bemusedly on the stairway.

…

            John and Emily didn’t last much longer, a few weeks at most, but after that night they both knew it was over, it was just a matter of when it would reach its end.  She ended it on a fall afternoon; the leaves had just started to change color but the air was still warm. Sherlock sidled up to John as he was walking home.

            “Sorry.” Sherlock wasn’t sure how it was his fault, but he knew it was somehow; he was always the reason things went wrong for John.  He ducked his head down and shuffled his feet across the cement.

            “It’s not your fault,” John said, reaching up to ruffle his hair, “I didn’t love her anyway, so I don’t care that much.”  Sherlock looked up, surprised by how relaxed John sounded about it all.  “Come on,” John said, bumping Sherlock’s shoulder, “let’s go home.”  The two teens fell into line, bumping shoulders, as they walked the familiar path back to their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that Sherlock will probably figure out that his feelings are love in the next couple of chapters and John will continue to serial date and deny his true feelings!
> 
> I've been able to post so frequently this week as I've been on spring break, however, I have to go back to university tomorrow :( Thus I will probably won't be posting as often even though I have a million things waiting to burst forth! Unfortunately I have a bunch of research projects and essays to write, so my time will be significantly reduced. I will do my best to post at least one chapter a week, hopefully more.
> 
> I love all you lovely people who take the time to read my writing and to leave notes for me! It really means the world to me and I love to hear from you! I still need names for John's girlfriends as I am terrible at naming people! I adore you all and hope you are having an excellent weekend!


	15. Little Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes home to something that he wasn't suppose to witness and begins to question his feelings for John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work has now reached 60 pages in my word document! I have never written anything this long so I'm quite pleased with myself and I'm so happy that you have reached this point with me, enjoy the story :)

           From that point onwards, John was never short for a girlfriend.  They would show up out of the woodwork, shy and blushing or bold and brassy, they would confess their feelings and proceed to ask (or demand) for John to date her.  John (unfortunately for Sherlock, fortunately for the girls) John never refused; if he was single he would accept the proffered date.  John was always a perfect date, affectionate, faithful, kind, attentive, but his relationships never lasted long.  They would date for a few weeks or months and then all of the sudden the girl would call it off. It was all very civil, John had even remained friends with quite a few of his ex’s, but they would all end nonetheless.

            Sherlock had learned (begrudgingly) to live with the stream of female companions in John’s life.  There had been Meredith, Jenna, Tabitha, Anne, Rachel, Katharine, Rosa, Cynthia, Christy, there were probably some others that Sherlock was forgetting, but they weren’t that important.  Sherlock tried his best to be nice to them, it made John happy, but honestly, you couldn’t expect him to keep all of their names straight!  Really, he didn’t know how John managed it, how was he expected to be able to tell them apart when they kept changing?  Sherlock tried not to let it bother him too much.  He could pretend that he was happy to see the date of the week for the short time between classes or, lord forbid, if he had a class with her, or even worse, if he had a class with both of them.  John didn’t try to force him to spend time with them outside of school after the fiasco with Emily and whenever Sherlock would come home to the two of them cuddling on the couch he could usually escape with a simple nod to John or at worst a quick hello before he could escape to his room. He could pretend well enough for John, if John was happy it was good enough for him, even if he felt like he was being stabbed in a vital organ every time he saw John and his date together. If he could limit his time where he had to see them as a couple, he could pretend for them and then fall apart in private.

            Sherlock lived for the afternoons and weekends when John’s girlfriend would be busy and it would be just John and him, like it use to be. John would help him with experiments, or they would go into town, or they would just stay at the house and watch trash television.  Those were secretly Sherlock’s favorite way to spend the day.  He would wander down around midday in sweatpants and a tee-shirt to find John sprawled on the small couch with a plate of toast with jam. Sherlock would squeeze into the too small space left, secretly glad that there wasn’t more room, and would steal bites of John’s toast, he never complained so Sherlock assumed that John either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.  Whatever they were watching would be absolute trash, but Sherlock didn’t mind for once, he wasn’t really watching anyway.  He loved how John would get himself worked up over what was playing and how he would rant and rave, he just liked to hear the sound of his voice. These lazy days were one of the few times that Sherlock would manage to nap.  He’d find himself dozing off around the third episode, when he’d wake up, he’d be pressed against John’s side.  If he was lucky, John would have shifted him so Sherlock’s head was in his lap, his long legs dangling over the arm of the couch, John’s hand absently carding through Sherlock’s curls.  When they had days like this it was easy to forget that John wasn’t really his but soon enough reality would come crashing back in, crushing Sherlock under the weight of it.

            One weekend, Sherlock came back from the library, he had gotten a book on poisonous fauna native to England and he couldn’t wait to see if any of them grew in the woods behind the house.  He had rushed home, eager to get his supplies and then go retrieve some samples, when he noticed two extra pairs of shoes in the doorway. He had been expecting to have the house to himself, Mrs. Hudson was off visiting her sister and John was off on a date, but there clearly were John’s trainers and the shoes of some mystery girl.  They must have decided to stay in after all.  Sherlock poked his head cautiously around the corner, expecting to see them curled around each other on the couch and some rubbish movie blasting, however, he was greeted with silence.  Sherlock was puzzled for a moment, if they weren’t in the living room where else would they be? It wasn’t like there were vary many other places they could go.  He pondered it for only a moment before shrugging his shoulders; he had more interesting things to think about.  Sherlock crept up the stairs, thick science book under his arm; his mind filled with the different kinds of poisons he knew grew in the forest and those that he would soon discover.  He was passing John’s room when he heard a noise, a sharp intake of breath. Sherlock pressed closer to the door, wondering if everything was all right. When he heard _IT_.   A soft feminine moan, the sound of bare skin touching, a low masculine grunt.

oh

 Oh

  OH!

           Sherlock jerked away from the door, almost falling against the opposite wall but regaining his balance before his noise could alert the couple that they were not alone. Sherlock scampered into his room, silently locking the boor before sliding down the wood to sit in a distressed heap. He started to tug at his raven curls, trying to focus on the pain instead of the thoughts rushing through his head. He hadn’t done this in years, John had always been there to stop him from this destructive habit, why wasn’t John there to stop him now?  Oh yhea, that’s right, Johns off in the next room shagging some girl senseless. Ok, no, don’t think about that, that’s a bit not good to think about.  Sherlock’s breath started to speed up, great, now he was panicking. Why did the thought distress him so much? He should have assumed that this had been happening.  John was a normal teenage boy and it was to be expected that he would want to have sex with his girlfriends and that they would be having sex.  It was normal, it was expected, so why was he so upset?

            It showed that John was leaving him, that John was no longer his. It showed that even though they were living under the same roof now John was already far away. Despite whatever childish promises they had made under the starlit sky that one day John would leave Sherlock all alone while he went off and had a happy life with friends and coworkers and a wife and children.  John had always been well liked and he would be doubly so once he had left Sherlock behind. It hurt.  It hurt more than he had ever imagined it would. It hurt more than it had when Mycroft had left, or Lestrade, or when he had thought of Mrs. Hudson abandoning him. Why did it hurt so much when it was John leaving him?  What was it about John that made it different?  This wasn’t the way normal people felt about their friends, was it? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long since I last posted a chapter lovelies! I was swamped at university writing so many academic papers that I had no energy left to write the things I wanted to! I'm finished with school for the year, so hopefully you all will be getting more story from this point onwards ^_^ Sherlock is about to start processing his feelings for John so expect a lot of awkward questioning Sherlock and plenty of angst on both sides. Also, John is going to be kind of a jerk :/ so mentally prepare yourself for that.  
> Thank you so much for reading this little story I've been writing, it makes me so happy whenever I see that someone has read it or kudoed it or left a comment! I love you all so dearly and I hope you are all doing well! <3


	16. Little Car Repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Lestrade royally messes up at telling Sherlock what love is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away for so long! I just really lost inspiration and motivation for this story. I had so many different directions that this story could have gone in and I couldn't decide which direction I wanted it to go. Plus there were some rude and pushy comments that really put me off working on this, I always love to hear from you but it really upsets me if you belittle or bully me for not putting chapters up soon enough for you ^_^  
> But that's besides the point! I'm really sorry for the long break! I really want to finish this and to do a good job writing it, so if anyone is still following this thank you for hanging in there and I'm sorry for the giant break!

Greg was home from Uni for a long weekend, the sun was surprisingly shinning, and it was a perfect day for him to work on his dad’s old clunker. The old thing hadn’t moved in years but Greg liked to work on it and it was his secret hope that one day he’d be able to drive it. Greg popped the hood and began to tinker, immersed in the world of engines and grease when he was startled by someone suddenly appearing next to the car.  
“Lestrade”  
“Shit!” Greg cursed and grumbled as he hit his head on the underside of the hood. “Christ Sherlock,” rubbing he back of his head, “warn a man, how do you even do that? Just appear out of thin air?” Greg asked with a wince.  
“I walked over here just as anyone else would,” Sherlock replied indignantly, “it’s not my fault you’re unobservant.” Sherlock finished, turning his nose up at Lestrade’s accusations. Greg chuckled good humoredly and reached up to ruffle Sherlock’s curls.  
“Good God, did you have another growth spurt?” as he had to stand on his toes and Sherlock had to slouch a bit for him to reach.   
“Aren't you going prematurely grey?” Sherlock asked, staring pointedly at a few silver hairs around his ears. Greg covered them with his hands shooting a glare at Sherlock.  
“Did you come over here for an actual reason or did you make this journey simply to point out my flaws?”  
Sherlock grew quite and pulled on the hem of his too short shirt. He actually did have a question to ask Lestrade. He obviously couldn’t talk to John about it. If he asked Mrs. Hudson she would just give him a knowing smile and say that it would all work out for the best. He certainly wasn’t going to ask Fatcroft about it, he’d rather die than do that. He had tried thinking about it on his own but, unfortunately, it seemed that it was one of those subjects that you needed life experience about it to be able to understand.  
“How do you know if you are in love with someone?” Sherlock asked kicking at the gravel of Lestrade’s driveway. Greg jerked back, honestly, that was one of the last things that he could imagine Sherlock asking. Shouldn’t he know by now, after all, Sherlock was already in college, shouldn’t he have already fallen in love at least once or twice by now?  
“Well,” Greg started rubbing at the back of his neck with embarrassment, “you want to spend time with them, you think about them a lot, you enjoy being with them, you think they look nice I guess?” He trailed off with a blush rising hotly onto his cheeks. Greg didn’t have that much experience in love and he didn’t really know how to explain it to the younger boy who was staring at him so earnestly.   
“No, no, no,” Sherlock waved his hand in front of his face, “all of those could be equally true about a friend. How can you tell if you like someone as more than that? How do you know if you’re just close friends or if you’re in love with them?” Greg had a faint idea about whom Sherlock was talking about. He had seen the admiration and adoration shining in both boys’ eyes. He was almost certain who Sherlock was wondering about and he was pretty sure that the feelings he had were indeed love. But he had to let Sherlock come to the conclusion on his own or else the boy would never accept it as fact, how was love different from friendship?  
“Well, um,” Gregory flushed even darker than he had before, “um, it’s when you want to touch your bits to their bits…” Was that that the best way to put it? He didn’t want to pressure Sherlock into outing himself if he wasn’t ready but was that really the best way to say it?  
“So if you want to have sex with them is how you know if it’s love or just friendship?” Sherlock’s voice sounded awfully flat even for him. Greg was a bit taken aback; he had expected Sherlock to panic if he hadn’t figured out his love for John yet, or maybe a relieved reaction if he had wanted confirmation. Greg hadn’t expected this flat almost empty reaction, it was almost as if he was disappointed. That couldn’t be it though; you only had to look at the two fools to be able to see that they loved each other, but Sherlock sure wasn’t acting like someone who’s feelings had just been confirmed. “I guess it’s not love then.” Sherlock murmured so quietly that Greg might have just misheard him before he turned and hurried away back to his own home.  
“Fuck.” Greg groaned, dragging a dirty hand through his hair. He had an overwhelming feeling that he had just fucked up royally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love Lestrade as a brother figure for Sherlock, too bad he's not the best at giving advice! >_


	17. Little Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a mini freak out and decides he needs to do some research/Lestrade this is why you had a feeling of doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this! Two chapters in a day :)

           So it wasn’t love after all Sherlock though as he threw himself onto his bed face first. He had been so sure that it was love. The way his pulse sped up when John would touch him casually, from brushing their hands together when reaching for a pencil to when John would drape his arm over Sherlock’s shoulder to the ever-rare moment when their legs would be pressed tightly side-to-side. The way he would lie awake late into the night thinking about John. The way John took up so much space in his head that could have been better employed elsewhere. The way that he always wanted to be touching John, how he wanted to drape himself over John’s back or how he wanted to curl up against John where ever he was, how he wished he could fold himself into John’s side and never leave it. Sherlock had been almost certain it was love.

            He had done all of the research about it and all of his symptoms seemed to point to love. He had marathoned every romantic movie they owned one weekend much to Mrs. Hudson’s dismay. Sherlock had checked out all of the classic romances out from the library and had read them in the middle of the night by light of a torch. He had even lowered himself to buying several of those trashy teen magazines and had filled out every “Do I Love Him?” quizzes and they had all pointed to yes. Sherlock had thoroughly done his research and he had been almost certain that he was in love with John Hamish Watson. However, there had been a nagging feeling in the far corners of his mind. Having a crush on someone and being friends with someone didn’t seem to be all that different from where he stood.

            After all, John was his only friend; he needed more data than just John to be able to draw a clear conclusion. After all, if he was wrong about this and tried to move forward than he would ruin everything that he had in his life. If he was wrong about this John would probably hate him, he might hate Sherlock anyway if he told him, but if he was going to risk being hated then he at least wanted to be right. He did not want to be hated for some mistaken feelings due to his inexperience with human interactions. He had needed to talk to someone who had ideally dated some people and had several friends whom they had not dated or had feelings for. Lestrade had fit the bill on both accounts of having friends and having dated people if Sherlock finding him snogging people in the park was any indicator. He was close enough to Sherlock to give him solid advice but not close enough where he would lord his inexperience over his head for years to come. He could trust Gregory to give him a solid answer.

            The answer Lestrade had given him was certainly a blow. He couldn’t even quite remember what his response had been and he wasn’t even entirely sure how he had made his way home or to his room. So he wasn’t in love with John Hamish Watson. He was just lonely and insecure and didn’t want to be abandoned by one of the few people he had left. He wasn’t in love, he was just confused, he wasn’t in love. Sherlock repeated this to himself over and over but it didn’t quite feel true. But as Lestrade had so eloquently put it, he had never thought of ‘rubbing their bits together’. Lestrade had to be right; he had experience in those matters after all and who was Sherlock to argue with the evidence. It had been present in all his research material, if subtly, that if you were in love with someone you wanted to have sex with them. The two characters proclaimed their love, the music swelled, the two fell into bed together, or against a wall or in the back of a car or anywhere there was space. Sherlock had even experienced this in his own life with that unfortunate afternoon he had come home to find John copulating with his girlfriend. If you loved someone, you obviously wanted to have sex with the other person. Had Sherlock even ever felt that way about anyone?

            Sherlock couldn’t remember anyone he had seen on the streets or in school sparking any such passion. He had watched porn once when his curiosity had been piqued by classmate’s discussions and he had looked at the magazines that John had hidden under his mattress but it hadn’t done anything for him, even when he had switched the subject matters gender it had been as dull as watching paint dry. The most interesting thing about the porn had been trying to figure out how the people had gotten into those positions; they certainly didn’t look like positions that humans could naturally obtain. He had gotten erections before, naturally, and had taken care of it quickly when the occasion had arisen, even if those times had been far and few in between, he knew that everything was functioning down there. Sherlock didn’t think that he had ever wanted to have sex with someone before. He felt a tightening in his gut and he curled up into a ball. Wanting to have sex was a natural human desirer and his lack of it was just another way he was deficient. Great, another thing that made him a freak he thought curling up tighter. John had told him not to call himself a freak but John wasn’t here right now was he? No no no! Sherlock thought pulling at his hair. He couldn’t be more of a freak than he already was; it simply had to be that he was lacking data! Well he had ways of gathering that.

            Sherlock rolled over and searched for his mobile, which he had flung on the floor in his distress. He scrolled through his contacts before settling on someone half way down the list.

            “Hello? Rachel? I’ve been thinking about your proposition lately and after considering it I’ve changed my mind and I would love to have dinner with you sometime.”

…

            Sherlock ran his hand through his disheveled curls as he looked for his shirt that had been thrown who knows where. He moved quietly, conscious of the creaking floorboards that graced every student apartment. One of which he had just discovered. Sherlock froze and his head whipped around to where the sleeping girls still lay in the bed, she slumbered on peacefully and Sherlock sighed with relief as he resumed his quest for his missing shirt. She was a nice enough girl but he did not particularly relish the conversation that was bound to happen if she were to wake up while he was attempting to sneak out. He found his shirt under the bed, along with his mobile and glanced at the time. If he hurried he would still be able to catch the bus back home before curfew. He jammed his feet into his beat up trainers and hightailed it to the stop just in time to catch the bus. He leaned back into his seat, catching his breath from the dash as he compiled the data from the evening.

            It hadn’t been terrible. She was quite pretty with dark skin and darker hair and eyes. She had been moderately entertaining for someone who wasn’t John. She had smelled like roses and shea butter and her skin had been soft and smooth under his hands. Her laugh had been high and tinkled like bells when she had discovered his inexperience and her gasps and moans had been pleasant enough when she had discovered he was a quick learner. It had felt nice enough and everyone involved had gotten off but it had been rather dull and was nothing he was particularly keen to repeat anytime soon. Maybe he just needed more data with different variables? After all, people said that sex got better with practice. Wouldn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you for reading this chapter and I hope you enjoyed it even through Sherlock's angsting :) John and Sherlock's relationship should begin progressing in the up coming chapters. If there are any sort of side stories or vignettes you would like to see come out of this world please let me know! I'll do my best to include them if the story allows it ^_^   
> Things to expect: angst with both boy's blood families, a wedding, John getting a bit of comeuppance for how he had dealt with his feelings for Sherlock, and much more!   
> Once again, thank you for reading and I always love you hear from all of you!


	18. Little Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns about Sherlock's "dating", thinks Sherlock looks hot in skinny jeans, is honest with himself for the first time in several chapters and may not be again for several more chapters, gets a slight reality check from Molly, and falls asleep on the couch.  
> Sherlock has a less than satisfactory "date".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some implied/off screen sex in this chapter. John is a real ass to Sherlock and people swear. Sherlock's partners are in University while he is still in College (US high school) so it is under age if they were in the US, not quite sure about the UK though so take that with a grain of salt if that bothers you.

           “Yea, it’s fine, I understand,” John answered holding the phone with his shoulder as he dug through the fridge for something to snack on, “tell your aunt happy birthday, bye.” John sighed as he hung up, he didn’t really care that Kate had canceled but he did wish that she had given him some more notice. Plus, who forgot that their great aunt was turning 95? Well, maybe he wasn’t the best person to judge about that, after all, he didn’t have a great aunt so he wouldn’t know. He pulled a container of yesterdays leftovers out of the fridge and mixed it around with a fork, good enough. Mrs. Hudson had given up cooking on Fridays as John usually had a football match or a date and Sherlock being Sherlock probably wouldn’t eat it. John scraped the food onto the plate and popped it into the microwave; maybe he would be able to trick Sherlock into eating some of it if he warmed up the whole container. John smiled fondly, Sherlock thought he didn’t notice how he would eat several pieces of his toast when they would sit together, for someone so smart he was oddly oblivious sometimes.

            Fridays use to be movie night in the Hudson household but lately John had been so busy with football and girlfriends that they hadn’t done this in months. It would be nice to do this again John thought as he removed the food before it had a chance to burn. Honestly, it had been ages since he had seen Sherlock in more than passing in the school hallways or as one of them was coming back to or leaving the house. John did feel a little bit guilty about that, they hadn’t even been walking to school together lately since John had been picking Katie up before school and they didn’t walk home together since John’s girlfriend was usually waiting in the stands after practice and after the first couple of times that one of them had tried to sit next to Sherlock and start a conversation, Sherlock had stopped coming to watch John’s practices. Plus Sherlock had gotten that job tutoring students at the near by Uni, that bloody brilliant git. Yea, John though as he climbed the stairs, this evening was just what the two of them needed. He was about to knock on Sherlock’s door and invite him to watch a terrible movie and to pick at John’s food when the door swung open before his fist could even make contact.

            John’s mouth fell open and he felt all of the moisture in his mouth evaporate all at once. He hadn’t even known that Sherlock owned clothes like that! He was use to Sherlock wearing old pajama pants and too big lumpy jumpers, his curls forming a haphazard halo of chaos around his head from constantly running his hands through it and tugging at curls in frustration. But here Sherlock was standing before John, his hair styled into glossy curls, black skinny jeans emphasizing his long lean legs, and a light grey V-neck drawing his eyes lower…   John snapped his mouth shut and stared at Sherlock wide eyed. Sherlock for his part looked almost as surprised to see John. Sherlock, of course, recovered from the unexpected meeting first.

            “I thought you were going to be out on a date?” Sherlock asked pointedly as he slid something into his back pocket as he edged around John and towards the stairs.

            “She had to go to her aunts birthday party.” John stood there for another moment still stunned by Sherlock’s transformation before he snapped out of it and scurried down the stairs after him. “Where are you going?” John had only known Sherlock to go to school, the library, or to the woods to forage. Since two of the three were closed and John had forbidden Sherlock from partaking in the third after dark after the time he had almost fallen into the fast moving stream near by one night, John had no idea where he could be going looking like THAT!

            “Out.” Sherlock was avoiding his eyes as he slipped on his coat. As Sherlock bent over to do up his trainers (John was NOT staring at how his pants were basically painted on) when whatever Sherlock had so smoothly slipped into his pocket earlier fell out onto the floor. Sherlock whipped around face already flushing a deep crimson as John’s fingers wrapped around the thin foil packet. John turned the pack over and as soon as he recognized what it was he turned just as red as Sherlock was. They were condoms. Sherlock was going “out” somewhere dressed like sin its self with condoms. John’s face turned even redder and his brain must have short circuited, as there was no other reasonable explanation for what came out of his mouth next.

            “Are you selling yourself?” John blurted out before his mind could catch up with his mouth and he slapped his hand over his mouth in shock over what had just come out of it. Sherlock’s mouth gaped; flabbergasted that John would ever think that before his mouth drew into a thin self-depreciating smile.

            “Who would ever want to buy me John?” Sherlock asked, mouth pulled thin and tight as he snatched the condoms out of John’s slack grasp. John could think of many people who would pay him (himself included possibly maybe) but Sherlock was still talking as he finished tying his shoes. “I am, in fact, going on what people commonly call a date,” Sherlock said disdainfully, “so glad that you can imagine me prostituting myself before you can think of someone actually lowering themselves to dating me!” Sherlock’s voice took on an angry note as he finished with his shoes and turned to glare at John, who had put his hands up in a placating gesture.

            “Sherlock! You know I didn’t mean it like that! I’ve just never seen you interested in anyone like that!” John could have sworn that Sherlock’s eyes turned stormy at that but they cleared as quickly as they had darkened. “Do I know the lucky girl?” John asked trying to cheer Sherlock up.

            “No,” Sherlock said tartly before turning to peer out the window, “and it appears my ride is here. Good bye John, hope you have a pleasant evening.” Sherlock called over his shoulder as he slammed the door shut. John peeked through a crack in the curtains to try and see who Sherlock’s secret date was but he could see nothing besides a dark car on their even darker lane before Sherlock got in and the car pulled away with a soft crunch of gravel.

            Now what was he suppose to do? If he didn’t figure something out he was just going to lie on the lumpy loveseat and fret about Sherlock. Did Sherlock even know what to do on a date? He probably did, he’d probably done research, and he could be quite charming when he wanted to be. John had seen him charm his way out of arrest on multiple occasions. So he probably wouldn’t annoy his date to the point where she would want to murder him so that was one less thing for John to worry about. His date had shown up in a car though, that was a whole other problem. It either meant that she was older than them by at least several years since kids their age usually didn’t have their license let alone a car that nice and John was willing to bet it wasn’t a parent picking him up with the way that Sherlock had walked out looking like sex on long legs… No, John was not thinking about his best friend’s arse again! But it had looked so good! Did Sherlock know how hot he’d looked? What if this mystery woman took advantage of him? But then John thought of the condoms that had fallen out of his pocket and flushed darkly, Sherlock was probably counting on her to take advantage of him. The thought made his face grow even darker red but this time with suppressed jealousy instead of embarrassment.

            He had thought he had gotten over what he had deemed a childish crush fuelled by an influx of hormones and too close a proximity. John thought that those feelings had been buried beneath the constant flood of female attachments he had found for himself. If he was being completely truthful with himself the affection for Sherlock had never truly disappeared, it had just been lightly covered with the thinly veiled commitment to heterosexuality and various girls who hadn’t truly had feelings for. He had dated them because they where convenient and had served a purpose, John had liked each of them well enough but had never really been especially attached to any of them. He had further distanced himself from his feelings by spending as little time with Sherlock as possible. He felt a stab of guilt at that thought. Sherlock already had so few people in his life and here John was taking himself out of the equation after he had promised to always be there for him but he really was doing it for Sherlock’s own good. Honestly, he was, he tried to convince himself. He had made this decision so he had absolutely no right to feel jealous of this unknown woman, he’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it! But he couldn’t stand being stuck here in this limbo of not knowing! At this rate he was either going to end up either worrying himself sick or fantasizing over Sherlock in that outfit, one of which he very much did not want to do and the other which he very much wanted to do but he wouldn’t allow himself to do. Molly!

            Molly had a crush on Sherlock for ages and Sherlock had been painfully oblivious to it the entire time, but as a result of her long unreturned crush she was rather an expert on Sherlock. Didn’t know when Sherlock had chemistry? Ask Molly. Needed to know what topic Sherlock was supposed to be reporting on in English because the lout had deemed listening in class below his interest? Ask Molly. Needed to know where Sherlock was because he had disappeared into thin air, again? Just ask Molly. John felt a little bad calling her about this, after all, he knew how much it hurt to see your crush going out and dating other people, but Molly was really the only person he could ask about this.

            “Hey Molly? Yea, its John, how are you?”

            “I’m fine, what’s up? I don’t know where Sherlock is if that’s what you were going to ask me,” Laughter crackled through the cheep speaker of John’s phone, “Weekends and after school hours I’m off the clock mister!” When she was only met with silence Molly furrowed her eyebrows in concern. “John, what’s wrong? Did something happen to Sherlock? John?”

            “Sorry Molly,” John laughed stiffly, “I know you’re off the clock an all but um, it’s just um, Sherlock went out on a date tonight and I was wondering if you knew who it was, Sherlock wouldn’t tell me.”

            “Well it honestly could be anyone,” Molly responded with a chuckle, “I hear its been a different Uni student every week, sometimes several different people in the same week if you believe the rumors.”

            “What?” John’s voice had gone flat with disbelief.

            “You didn’t know?” The silence on the other end of the line was answer enough for Molly. “Well I don’t think it’s quite as many people as the rumors say, probably around five at most. But they say that he’s been accepting any Uni students who ask him out. A girl at our school tried to ask him out but he said it was too much trouble to do that sort of thing with someone he’d have to see every day. That sounds like him, doesn’t it?” Molly continued on without waiting for a response, “He only goes on one date with them and then he never goes out with them again, apparently he won’t even answer calls from them. My older sister goes to school there and apparently it has been causing quite a stir! According to her he got called out by a couple girls and a couple guys and he accepted them as long as he wasn’t already busy.”

            “Wait!” John spluttered, “Guys?”

            “What? Don’t tell me you’re prejudice?” Molly sounded extremely disapproving through the sound waves.

            “No! No, I’m not…” John mumbled after the initial outburst, “I just didn’t know, it was surprising is all.” John swore he could hear her quirk one eyebrow even though kilometers separated them.

            “I thought he would have told you about something like that, I thought you guys were closer than this. Oh, wait. You got a new girlfriend recently, didn’t you?” She sounded awfully accusatory about that.

            “What does that mean?” John was starting to feel a bit off put by this conversation.

            “Nothing, nothing at all,” Molly let out a yawn, “Well I’m going to go now John.”

            “Yea, thanks Molly. Night.” John was about to hang up when Molly’s voice broke though.

            “Oh, by the way, I’m pretty sure his date tonight was a guy.” Molly breezily said, “Night John!” And with that she hung up, leaving John staring at his phone with utter disbelief. Molly had just presented John with news that he could not imagine receiving in even his wildest dreams. He rolled over so he was laying face first into the living room carpet and let out a muted curse.

            “Shit!”

…

            “Shit!” Sherlock whispered as he let himself quietly back into the house as his waist twinged painfully. His mouth was quirked to the side in irritation as he rubbed at his lower back. Sebastian had really been too rough with him. Even though he hadn’t particularly enjoyed any of the other times they had all been fine, nothing in particular to complain about, but this encounter was firmly in the category of ‘no, never again’. Sherlock had been doubtful about him from the beginning, he had had rather a hard time reading Wilkes, he had mostly seemed alright but there were some things that he hadn’t had a clear read about. At first Sherlock had been going to refuse him but he had been so persistent and Sherlock had needed a third man to have equal sample sizes. So eventual Sherlock had said yes after weeks of Wilkes wedeling him.

            Now he wished that he had continued to say no. Honestly, he felt like he was one big sore spot. He was pretty sure he had left several hickeys despite the fact that Sherlock had told him not to. He was a complete and total tosser. All he’d done all evening was talk about how much money he had, dull. He had also had a terrible case of creeping hand from the moment Sherlock had gotten in the car. Over all it had been an unpleasant evening with one of the more unpleasant men Sherlock had had the displeasure of knowing. He had been rude and he had been forceful and he had moved much too quickly for Sherlock’s liking. Plus he had made Sherlock miss the last bus home. Wilkes had offered to drive him home with an unpleasant smirk etched on his face but Sherlock would rather walk home than be submitted to another round of Sebastian’s roaming hand on his thigh. He had grabbed cab fare out of Sebastian’s wallet; if he was as rich as he had droned on about he could spare it, and took the liberty of clearing his number from his mobile at the same time.

            It had been a shit night and as soon as he’d left he had wished that he had canceled and stayed at home with John. However, the moment that John had made the comment about selling himself Sherlock had seen red and before he had known it his rage had forced him to sit through an evening with Wilkes. Did John really think so little of him? Sherlock scrubbed at his eyes as angry tears rose up. He was just over tired, his hips hurt, and he still had to enter in his data, that was the only reason he was so upset, it had to be.

            Sherlock was about to sneak up the stairs when he saw John sprawled out on the couch, a Kung Fu movie was still playing on the TV but John was out for the count. He had his arms stretched above his head and his shirt had pulled up to reveal a strip of his tan stomach, his mouth lulled open as he lightly snored. He had been worried and had tried to wait up for Sherlock to get back. The sight brought a small smile to his face, John still slept this way after all of these years. Sherlock carefully removed one of the afghans from the back of the couch and tucked it around John’s slumbering form before completing the journey up the stares, to his room, and into bed. The data spread could wait till the morning.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter we are over 20,000 words! Thank you lovelies for sticking with me through all of this and thank you for reading this chapter! I have loved hearing from all of you who have left comments <3 it really means so much to me. As always I love hearing from you and any sorts of mini fluffy or angsty chapters you would like to see I would be more than happy to consider putting in ^_^ So once again, thank you lovelies and I hope you are all having lovely a lovely New Year!


	19. Little Sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals with some feels, well, maybe not as well as he thought he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this while waiting for the plumber to come. It's stressful having strangers in your house >_

           Things had been tense around the house after John had all but accused Sherlock of prostituting himself. Not that John blamed him for being angry about that, he was mad at himself for having thought it! But still, the tension in the air was palpable and John’s awkwardness over certain revelations certainly wasn’t helping matters.

            He tried to act normally around Sherlock! Really! But then he would remember how he had looked that night and the fact that his long held secret crush might not be completely as hopeless as he had previously imagined it to be and he simply couldn’t function like he was actually in position of a brain! Most often it manifested its self in John staring intensely at Sherlock until Sherlock’s clear blue eyes would meet with his and John would flush an alarming shade of red from toe to top before whipping away and stammering out an inaudible excuse and rushing from the room. John banged his head against his desk with frustration. He couldn’t keep acting this way! It did not serve to keep his crush private (just because Sherlock dates guys it doesn’t mean he would want to date you, he had to continuously remind himself), plus he could tell that his obvious avoidance was hurting Sherlock’s feelings which was really the last thing he wanted to do. John rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he let out a groan. He had done this before and he could do it again. This wasn’t any worse than when he had had wet dreams about Sherlock and had sit across from him at breakfast immediately after, or the time John had burst into the bathroom to find Sherlock getting out of the shower, or the time that he had woken up from a nap on the couch to find Sherlock’s sleeping face mere centimeters away from his own. He was John Hamish Watson and he could do this. Just as he had strengthened his resolve he heard a knock at his door and Sherlock popped his disheveled head around the door.

            “I’m heading to the library, do you want to come?” Sherlock asked coming fully into the room but avoiding eye contact. Ok, he could do this.

            “Nah, I have this blasted essay to work on, it’s due on Monday.” Phew, that had sounded mostly normal and he hadn’t turned even a bit red.

            “Do you have anything you want me to take back?” Sherlock sounded so happy over the simple fact that John had actually completed a full sentence towards him. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

            “Yea,” John turned and stood up, “I just need to find them.”

            “Then I might be here all week!” Sherlock replied with a small smile on his face as he flopped onto John’s unmade bed. John pretended to be offended by that but honestly he was glad that they had slipped back into their easy teasing pattern. He wrangled books from in between piles of clothing, for some reason a couple were inside his dresser drawer, and Sherlock obligingly lifted up his legs so that John could crawl under his bed to retrieve one last book that had slipped down between his bed and the wall.

            “Here you go.” John blew the dust bunny off of the cover and handed the last book over before standing back and casually looking at Sherlock. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as he had made it out to be. Sherlock hadn’t disappeared off on any more mystery dates since that evening and his clothing had returned to its usual state of disarray. Sure his pans were a bit tighter, that was probably a result of yet another growth spurt, but he had on his usual ratty tee and an oatmeal jumper that was hanging off of his shoulder. John narrowed his eyes marginally. “Hey!” John grabbed at the sleeve, “Isn’t this my jumper?” Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly and light pink dusted his cheeks as he yanked the sleeve back.

            “No it’s not!” Sherlock tried to avoid John’s clutches but John was able to grab hold of the neck of the jumper.

            “Yes it is!” John exclaimed, yanking the collar farther back, “It has my name on it!” Long ago Mrs. Hudson had started writing their names on their clothes because she didn’t want to have to bother trying to figure out which boys black tee shirt belonged to which of the three boys who had been living under her roof. And there it was clear as day J.W. written in sharpie on the rag tag tag. “Why are you wearing my clothes?” Sherlock at least had the decency to look a bit embarrassed about being found out.

            “I grew again,” he said, freeing himself from John’s clutches and rubbed at his neck, “mine didn’t fit anymore.”

            “Sure you gained some more height,” John said, frowning as he had to crane his neck in order to be able to see Sherlock’s face, “but I doubt you’ve gotten any bigger around.” John poked at his boney ribs to emphasize his point. “So let’s try this again, why did you steal my jumper?”

            “I didn’t steal it,” Sherlock replied churlishly, “I was only borrowing it.” John tapped his toe impatiently waiting for an actual answer. “Well, I told you, I grew and mine were too short. Sense yours are a bigger size they’re longer. ” Sherlock looked oddly embarrassed by this admission.

            “Then just ask Mrs. Hudson to buy you some new jumpers, I know she wont mind.”

            “But,” Sherlock turned even redder, “yours are already broken in just right, and,” Sherlock’s voice got even quieter so John had to strain to hear him, “they smell like y… I mean they smell sort of nice I guess.” Sherlock tapered off and stared at his feet. John felt the tips of his ears heat up as he stammered out a response.

            “Www-wwell I guess that's fine,” John rubbed at the back of his neck, “just let me know so I won’t wonder where they’ve gone.” Sherlock looked up, eyes widening in surprise as he got the ok to keep stealing (because they both knew the probability of John getting it back was close to zero) John’s clothes. Aww fuck. He was super cute blushing like that while wearing John’s clothes. This was going to be harder than John had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you chickadees for reading! I'm thinking of either having Harry's wedding next or visiting mummy Holmes. I'm leaning more towards visiting mummy since then they can have worked out more issues and can be more cutesy at the wedding? We'll see.  
> Thank you lovelies for reading this. I have been loving all of the feedback and comments from all of you out there. If there is anything you would like to see in here please let me know! I will be more than happy to consider it ^_^ Once again, thank you for being here and I hope that all of you lovelies are having a lovely day!


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